Читать книгу It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge - Сара Крейвен, Julia James - Страница 10

IT WAS dark when Emily got to Glasgow, and pitch black when she arrived at last at Kilrossan. But her journey, though lengthy, had run like clockwork and she’d had no trouble making her connection.

As she descended on to the cold and windy platform and stood for a moment ruefully easing her spine, a rangy young man approached out of the gloom.

‘You’ll be Miss Blake, I’m thinking.’ Voice and smile were cheerful. ‘I have the Jeep waiting.’

He took the suitcase crammed with warm clothing and the bag of books from her and set off towards the exit.

‘I’m Angus McEwen, by the way,’ he added. ‘It’s my auntie who looks after the cottage for the owners, although there aren’t many visitors at this time of year.’

‘I wanted to find somewhere quiet and remote,’ Emily told him, huddling gratefully into her fleece.

He laughed. ‘Well, it’s that all right.’

‘It’s also absolutely freezing!’

‘There’s snow expected.’ He stowed her bags in the back of the Jeep and they set off.

She said stiltedly, ‘It’s very good of you to come and collect me at this time in the evening.’

‘All part of the service. I’m home on leave and like to keep occupied.’ He paused. ‘How did you hear about the cottage?’

‘Through a friend.’

‘It’s a shame it’s so dark because the scenery around here’s something grand,’ he told her. ‘Mind you, they say the desert’s beautiful too, but I can’t see it myself.’

‘Is that where you work?’

He nodded. ‘I started on the oil rigs but now I’m on a contract in Saudi.’ He paused again. ‘Are you a walker, Miss Blake? Because, if you’re planning to head into the hills at some point, you’ll need to leave a message with Auntie at the shop about where you’re going and when you reckon to be back. Snow or not, the weather can still be treacherous at this time of year and getting the mountain rescue team out is expensive.’

Emily smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to relax.’ Or try to…‘I’m not tackling more than the odd gentle stroll.’

‘Then I’d better give you a bit of peace now,’ Angus commented ruefully. ‘The family always say I could talk the hind leg off a donkey.’

If she was truthful, Emily was glad of the silence. She still couldn’t believe her escape had been so simple. The only query had come from the ticket office clerk at the station. ‘A first class single to London, madam? Not a return?’

She’d smiled demurely. ‘I’ll probably be coming back by car,’ she fibbed. She wouldn’t, of course, but if Raf made enquiries that was what he’d be told. And from London she could have gone anywhere.

She didn’t even want to contemplate what his reaction would be when he arrived at the Manor and discovered she was missing. But she wouldn’t worry about that now. She had two weeks of solitary bliss in which to make her contingency plans. And when she returned she’d be ready for anything.

They seemed to have been driving for ever but at last the Jeep turned off and Emily found they were bumping over a rutted uphill track.

Her companion pointed to a light ahead of them. ‘That’s Braeside Cottage. Auntie’ll have been up with a welcome pack—bread, milk, porridge oats and the like. And I’m to show you where everything is and light the living room fire for you.

‘The water and heating work off oil,’ he went on as Emily murmured appreciatively. ‘And the cooker uses bottled gas, because the electricity goes off sometimes in bad weather. But Auntie Maggie makes sure there’s always a good stock of candles.’ He paused doubtfully. ‘You’re certain you won’t mind being up here on your own?’

‘Believe me,’ Emily said truthfully, ‘I can hardly wait.’

The cottage was certainly worth waiting for, she thought, as she was ushered straight in through a front door which, Angus told her, was rarely, if ever, locked.

Well, it was the back of beyond, just as she’d hoped, she reminded herself. Her Scottish sanctuary, hundreds of miles from irate Italian millionaires.

It was a large room, comfortably furnished but not flash. Two big sofas upholstered in blue flowered chintz flanked the fireplace and there was a small dining table and two chairs under the window. None of the furniture was new, but it gleamed and there was a pleasing scent of polish in the air.

A curtained archway led to a small but well-equipped kitchen at the rear, with the promised welcome pack standing on one of the counter tops.

In addition, there was a flight of wooden stairs to the upper floor and a door in the corner which Angus said led down to the cellar, where the boiler and the coal bunker were both located.

He took her case upstairs and deposited it in the large front bedroom. Emily saw that there was a thick quilt in a green and white striped cover on the double bed and that the lace-edged pillows were crisply laundered. It looked so inviting that she almost ached.

There were sheepskin rugs on the wooden floor and plain curtains in the same green at the windows. There was also an elderly chest of drawers with a mirror above it and a walk-in cupboard with a hanging rail.

Opposite was a single room, chastely furnished in white, and at the end of the narrow landing was a small but serviceable bathroom with a deep old-fashioned tub and a hand shower.

It was all immaculately clean and shining, which made Angus’s Aunt Maggie a treasure. Pity she can’t sort out High Gables for Simon, she thought, and wondered if he was missing her, at the same time disturbingly aware that she’d hardly spared him a thought. That she’d been preoccupied with Raf instead, and to an absurd degree. Well, that would stop right now.

When she rejoined Angus downstairs, the fire was already crackling in the grate.

‘The kindling’s kept in the cellar, too, for dryness,’ he mentioned. ‘And the log store’s in a lean-to at the side of the house. There was a load delivered before Christmas, so don’t stint yourself. And it draws well, this fire, so it’s easy to light.

‘You’ll have no trouble finding the village, either,’ he continued. ‘Just keep walking downhill. Auntie’s shop is only open for papers tomorrow, because of the Sabbath. But, if you look in the fridge, you’ll find she’s left you a Sunday dinner, so you won’t starve. I’m afraid that’s extra,’ he added a touch awkwardly. ‘Is that all right?’

‘I’m truly grateful,’ Emily assured him. ‘Your aunt’s gone to a lot of trouble to make me welcome, and so have you.’

‘Och, think nothing of it.’ Angus stood up, dusting his hands. ‘Make sure you use the spark guard before you go to bed and you’ll be fine.’

‘I’m sure I will. I’ll just have a quick supper, then sleep off the journey.’

His smile warmed her again. ‘Then I’ll see you around.’

And he was gone, and she heard the Jeep disappearing down the track.

At last, there was nothing but silence. Emily stood for a moment, looking round her new domain with profound satisfaction.

It was settling in time. She would unpack, make her first meal, take her first bath, then let the stresses and strains of the past week slide away in that big, comfortable bed upstairs.

It felt chilly in the bedroom. She felt the radiator, but it was cold, as was the one in the bathroom. Presumably the heating worked on a timer and had switched itself off, she thought, putting away her clothes in double-quick time.

In the kitchen, she unloaded the groceries in the welcome pack. As Angus had indicated, there was a fresh chicken in the fridge, along with some carrots and a small cabbage.

But, for now, she would make do with a can of soup, and tomato at that, she thought, operating the ring-pull on the can. The ultimate comfort food.

When it was hot, she poured it into a large pottery mug and carried it into the living room. As she sat down one of the logs in the grate collapsed, making her jump, emphasising her awareness of the cottage’s isolation.

It seemed strange to have no real idea of the landscape outside the dark rectangle of window, she thought with sudden unease. Maybe it would help if she drew the thick woven cream curtains, closing out the darkness and the unknown together.

But this is what you wanted—a hiding place with total seclusion, she argued inwardly. So why be a wuss about it?

As she began tugging the heavy folds into place, she became aware of two things. That snowflakes were dancing in the air, just as Angus had predicted. And that she could hear the sound of an engine and see a pair of powerful headlights approaching the cottage.

Oh, God, she thought, groaning inwardly. Surely it wasn’t Angus paying another visit on some pretext. He didn’t seem the type to make a nuisance of himself because she was female and on her own, but how did she know? What did she know?

She would just have to make it perfectly plain that she didn’t need any kind of complication in her life. And, whatever he’d said earlier, she’d keep that damned door locked.

But, even as she turned to do so, she heard a vehicle door slam and footsteps approaching on the gravelled area just outside.

As the cottage door opened, she said breathlessly, ‘Whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow. Now, I’d just like you to go.’

‘But how inhospitable of you, carissima,’ came the drawled reply. ‘Particularly when I have come so far to find you.’

And, as Emily halted in stunned disbelief, Raf Di Salis stepped into the lamplit room.

Emily couldn’t speak. She could hardly think. She just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at him. Watching him strip off his gloves.

He can’t be here, she thought. It wasn’t possible for him to have found out her destination and followed her so quickly. Yet he was only too real.

There were snowflakes clinging to his dark hair and to the shoulders of the parka he was wearing and he was carrying a leather travel bag, which he allowed to drop to the floor with a thud that sounded ominously final.

‘Lost for words, mia bella?’ he asked, the hazel eyes raking her mercilessly. ‘How strange. You seemed eloquent enough when you spoke to my lawyers the other day. And very frank.’

Her throat closed in fright as she remembered every reckless word she’d thrown at them. His arrival had made the cottage seem suddenly smaller and more cramped. And there was a note of cold, quiet anger in his voice that made her shiver.

He noticed instantly. ‘You are cold, my angel? Forgive me.’ He kicked the door shut behind him. ‘So, Emilia, are you pleased with the cottage?’

She found her voice at last. ‘I was—until a moment ago.’ She took a deep breath. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I have come to talk to you, naturalmente,’ Raf said softly. ‘To discuss your recent ultimatum—among other things. I told you so in my letter. And you must have received it, or why would you be here?’

‘I came because I chose not to see you—not to have this conversation.’ She tried to keep her voice steady as her mind ran in crazy circles, trying desperately not to think what she was thinking. ‘As you must have known.’

He shrugged. ‘But that was not your choice to make.’ He unzipped his parka and tossed it across the back of a sofa. Underneath he was wearing a black roll-necked sweater and his long legs were encased in blue denim and tough-looking boots.

He too, it seemed, had dressed for bad weather—and a long stay. And a voice in her head was silently screaming, No…

‘I made my wishes clear to you, Emilia,’ he went on. ‘You should have listened.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘We’re back to the old obedience issue.’

‘There are a number of issues,’ he said. ‘In time, we shall deal with them all.’

‘No,’ she said angrily. ‘I came here to get away from you, as you’re clearly aware. Either you leave or I do.’

He walked to the door and opened it again. A flurry of snow blew in on a wind that seemed to come straight from the Arctic Circle. ‘Then go, mia cara. I hope you have a destination in mind, because it is not a night to be homeless.’

He paused. ‘Or you could be sensible and accept that this interview is inevitable. Which is it to be?’

There was a silence, then Emily turned away almost blindly, wrapping her arms round her body.

‘You are wise,’ he said and closed the door.

She said, ‘How did you know where I’d be?’

‘I think you already know the answer to that.’

She said fiercely, ‘I suppose you must have forced it out of poor Simon somehow.’

‘No force was needed,’ he said. ‘I have known about this house for a long time. My friends originally offered it to me for our honeymoon and I regret now that I did not accept.’ He looked round him appraisingly. ‘It is charming and ideally secluded, don’t you think?’

The sensation that she was standing on the edge of a precipice was so vivid that Emily almost swayed. She made her way to the sofa and sat down.

‘Friends?’ she echoed hoarsely. ‘What friends?’

‘Marcello and Fiona Albero,’ he said casually. ‘You met them in London when he was at the Embassy, but I knew you would not remember. You were always too enclosed in your little private block of ice, mia sposa, to care about any of the people I introduced to you.’

That, she thought indignantly, is so unfair, but she could not deal with it now.

She swallowed. ‘Then Simon must know them too.’

‘Signor Aubrey,’ he said with distaste, ‘knew only what I told him to say and what I told him to do. You see, I guessed, Emilia mia, that you would wish to avoid me if you could. Acting under my instructions, he provided you with the means to do so.’

He paused. ‘And he sent you here. To me.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He wouldn’t do that. We—we’d found each other again, Simon and I. We had plans…’ Her voice tailed away, then she rallied. ‘You must have tricked him.’

‘Of course.’ There was harsh mockery in his tone. ‘I tricked him into allowing me to pay the worst of his debts. They were considerable.’

‘How did you know he owed money?’

‘I promised your father I would protect you,’ Raf said. ‘Therefore, I needed to know what Signor Aubrey was doing—especially when he ignored an earlier warning and came back into your life—with his plans.’

She gasped. ‘You mean you’ve been having him—watched? Investigated?’

‘Of course.’ His tone was brisk. ‘I have to be away a great deal, so how else could I obtain the information I needed? And the money he owed featured prominently in the reports I received.’

‘That’s nonsense,’ Emily said, her voice shaking. ‘Simon has his own successful business.’

‘There is no business. He has only what his wits can provide,’ Raf said curtly. ‘And he is running out of options.’ He shrugged. ‘I did not choose that you should be one of them.’

‘Do you know what you’re saying?’ she whispered. ‘You’re telling me that the man I love only wanted me because I’m my father’s heiress.’

‘Yes, Emilia, I am telling you exactly that.’

‘And what about me?’ she asked, dry-mouthed. ‘Have I been—watched too—in your absence?’

‘Si, naturalmente.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything natural about it,’ she said furiously. ‘How dared you spy on me?’

‘I am a rich man, Emilia, and you are my wife. In some circles this would make you a target.’ He shrugged. ‘I knew you would not accept a bodyguard at the Manor, so I chose the only alternative.’

‘And all from the most altruistic motives, of course.’ She radiated scorn. ‘But who watches you, pray?’

‘I can look after myself,’ he said. ‘You, I wished to keep safe in accordance with my promise to your father.’ He paused. ‘Also, I needed to prevent you from making a fool of yourself over Simon Aubrey.’

There was a taut silence, then he added curtly, ‘I regret that I have had to distress you. But it is time you knew the whole truth.’

‘I don’t—I won’t believe you.’ She snatched up her shoulder bag, extracting her mobile phone. ‘I’m going to call Simon right now. Prove you a liar.’

‘Then do so,’ Raf said and picked up his bag. ‘But first tell me where I will be sleeping.’

‘You’re not staying here.’ She looked up, white-faced, her eyes blazing. ‘Do you think I’d have you under the same roof?’

His voice was level. ‘It is not the first time. And I fail to see how you can stop me.’ He paused. ‘Fiona told me there are two bedrooms. Do I turn left or right at the top of the stairs?’

Their glances met—clashed, and it was Emily who looked away first, realising he was totally determined.

‘To the right,’ she said icily. ‘I suppose. As, sadly, I’m not physically capable of throwing you out. But Simon can, and he will, when he finds out what you’ve been saying. He’ll be here tomorrow.’

‘Your faith is admirable,’ he said quietly, ‘but misplaced. However, make your call if you must. But first ask yourself this. If I am a liar, how is it that I have found you so easily?’

Emily watched him walk up the stairs, her mind whirling in circles.

She could hardly comprehend what he’d said. It was too monstrous to be true. She couldn’t give it credence.

Simon loves me, she thought, and Raf’s got a grudge against him because of those stupid things I said to the lawyers about getting married again. That’s all it is. It has to be.

And yet she couldn’t escape the memory of Simon’s odd behaviour the other day—the edgy, reluctant way he’d offered his assistance. As if he felt guilty—or ashamed…

When Raf returned ten minutes later she was still sitting in the same place, the phone dangling from her fingers.

‘Well?’ he enquired curtly.

She shook her head. ‘I can’t get through. There’s no network available. It must be the mountains.’ She looked around. ‘There has to be another phone somewhere.’

‘Only in the village.’ He shrugged. ‘Marcello and Fiona prefer to be here alone—without interruptions.’

The word ‘alone’ seemed to sound in her mind like a knell. It suddenly occurred to her that whenever she and Raf had been together in the past there’d been other people around. Quite apart from acquaintances and guests, everywhere she’d stayed with him had resident staff of some kind.

Now, for the first time, it was—just the two of them, occupying a relatively small space. ‘Without interruptions’ he’d said. And the realisation sent chills through her.

Raf was prowling the room, inspecting everything, glancing at the books and ornaments on the shelves that flanked the fireplace. He picked up the mug of cold soup and regarded it with disfavour. ‘Is this supposed to be supper?’

‘Mine, yes,’ she said. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

‘But I am. So—what else is there to eat?’

Emily gasped. ‘You really think I’m going to get you a meal?’

He said softly, ‘You’re still my wife, mia cara, and, until now, your duties have not been too onerous. Besides, most wives cook for their husbands—or hadn’t you heard?’ He paused. ‘But maybe you are devoid of culinary skills.’

She said indignantly, ‘Everyone at my school learned to cook. The nuns insisted.’

‘Ah, the nuns,’ Raf said reflectively. ‘That explains a great deal. But at least some aspects of your education have received attention, if not all.’

Emily lifted her chin. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

‘It is not important. Are there eggs? You could prepare a simple omelette, perhaps?’

‘I could,’ she said. ‘But why should I?’

‘Because a man needs to conduct negotiations on a full stomach,’ Raf said smoothly. ‘And we are here to negotiate, are we not?’

She took the untouched soup from him with a mutinous look, then stalked with it into the kitchen, pouring it away down the sink. Under the circumstances, she thought, the word ‘comfort’, even applied to food, was a sick joke.

She filled the kettle and set it to boil. Tea bags and a small jar of instant coffee had been included in the welcome pack, although she couldn’t imagine Raf relishing either. But then, he wasn’t a welcome guest, so why should she care?

She found a shallow frying pan, added a knob of butter and placed it on the stove to heat gently. She was breaking eggs into a bowl when Raf came in.

She didn’t look at him. ‘Do you mind? This is a very small kitchen.’

‘I came to bring you this.’ He put a package on the worktop beside her.

With chagrin, Emily recognised an expensive brand of freshly ground coffee. She said coolly, ‘You think of everything, signore.’

‘I need to, carissima, when I have you to deal with.’ He reached a long arm up to a top shelf and took down a box she hadn’t even noticed, extracting a cafetière. ‘There is no espresso machine, unfortunately, but this will do.’

He rinsed it out and began to spoon in the coffee.

‘Do you want two eggs or three?’ Emily asked, adding seasoning.

‘Four,’ he said. ‘I need to keep my strength up, don’t you agree, my lovely wife?’

Caught unawares, she turned her head sharply, staring at him. ‘What do you mean?’

His mouth twisted mockingly. ‘Merely, that if it continues to snow like this, I might have to dig us out—what else?’ He added laconically, ‘And your butter is about to burn,’ and went back into the living room.

Gritting her teeth, she moved the pan off the heat and slotted wholemeal bread into the toaster. She filled the cafetière and took china and cutlery through to the living room.

Raf was lounging on a sofa, staring into the newly replenished fire.

She said curtly, ‘You do realise there’s no television here? No computer or fax machine either. ‘

‘You feel that is a problem?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s hardly the streamlined, high-tech, luxurious environment you’re used to. You can hardly test the world’s financial pulse from here.’

‘Oh, I think the patient will live without me.’

‘But can you live without the patient?’

‘For a while, certainly.’ He stretched indolently. ‘And it will be good for me to relax completely. It does not often happen.’

‘You’ve forgotten the negotiations.’

‘I have forgotten nothing,’ he said and resumed his scrutiny of the leaping flames, leaving her to retire, baffled.

Emily beat the eggs with a fork and poured them into the hot pan, watching them with an eagle eye to ensure they did not become leathery. But they looked pretty good, fluffy and golden, she decided with satisfaction, as she divided them up, giving Raf the lion’s share.

‘This is excellent,’ he commented after his first mouthful. ‘You have hidden talents, mia cara.’

She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Let’s hear it for Sister Mary Antony.’

She had to force down her own portion against the nervous tightness of her throat, but somehow she managed it. Because it was important not to show she was on edge in front of Raf. Shock and anger at his unexpected arrival were permissible—just—but being scared was not.

Cool indifference, she thought, was the thing to aim for.

The meal over, she refused politely his equally courteous offer to assist with the washing-up. The idea of Rafaele Di Salis with a tea towel in his hand was too ludicrous to contemplate, she decided, her lip curling. More importantly, the kitchen was indeed far too cramped for easy sharing. Especially with him.

When she went back into the living room, she saw, with surprise, that a bottle of wine and two glasses had appeared on the small table in front of him.

‘Did you bring that too?’ she asked.

‘I did not have to. Marcello keeps a small store in the cellar for his own visits.’ He poured the wine and handed her a glass. ‘He gave me the key to the cupboard.’

‘The kind of friend to have,’ Emily said with constraint.

She didn’t want to sit drinking with him, yet to refuse might send out the wrong sort of signal. So she took a cautious sip and put the glass down.

My God, she thought bitterly, this—ambush had been carefully planned. But it was becoming plain that it couldn’t have succeeded without Simon’s active connivance, and that this was only one of the ugly truths she might have to accept.

In spite of herself, she couldn’t forget the missing items in the drawing room at High Gables and Simon’s casual dismissal of her query.

If he was short of money, why didn’t he turn to me? she asked herself almost despairingly. Why pretend he was a high-flying entrepreneur working from home, when she was bound to find out the truth eventually?

‘You look angry, carissima. Is the wine not to your liking?’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘However, it doesn’t make your invasion of my privacy here any more acceptable.’

He shrugged. ‘But then you have never made me particularly welcome, Emilia, wherever you happened to be.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘that hardly matters. I’m sure you’re greeted with open arms everywhere else.’

And could have bitten her tongue out. Because she’d just broken her own cardinal rule and made a reference, however veiled, to the other women in his life.

But Raf did not pick up on it immediately, as she’d feared. He leaned back against the cushions, drinking his wine, his glance meditative. ‘It did not occur to you, mia cara, that deliberately running away from me might seem—a form of enticement? That I would be bound to follow?’

She stiffened. ‘No.’

‘How little you know of men,’ he murmured.

She tossed back her hair with a fierce gesture. No point in hedging any more and to hell with the consequences. ‘I certainly know about you, signore,’ she said bitingly. ‘And I’d have thought you had enough—enticements in your life already.’

She took a deep breath. ‘So why don’t you say whatever it is you came here for, then get back to your real world? And leave me in peace.’

He looked at her for a long moment, then he got to his feet, picking up his glass and the bottle. ‘I suggest we resume this conversation tomorrow,’ he said. ‘When perhaps you may be more—amenable. More prepared to listen to reason.’ He paused. ‘Now, am I permitted to take a bath, perhaps, before I retire?’

‘Yes, of course.’ It was only a small respite, but, as things were, she was thankful for anything. ‘You—you’ll find extra towels in the airing cupboard, I think.’

‘Grazie.’ He inclined his head courteously. ‘I understand that the hot water supply is limited, so I will try not to use it all.’

‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ she returned quickly. ‘And your friends obviously manage.’

‘Ah,’ he said, casually. ‘But then they bathe together.’ He sent her a swift, impersonal smile, then went unhurriedly up the stairs and out of her sight.

That, thought Emily, furiously aware that she was blushing, was altogether too much information.

Once again, Raf seemed to have caught her on the back foot. And with very little effort on his part.

Why did I think I could ever take him on? she asked herself despondently. I should have hired myself a legal team of my own and let them battle it out.

Only it was too late for that now. He was here, by his own admission, to make her see reason. In other words, to meekly submit to his particular point of view, she thought, biting her lip.

Well, she was damned if she would. She’d fight him every step of the way.

And if he’d imagined that breaking the news of Simon’s callous betrayal of her would undermine her strength of will, then he could think again.

When Simon had walked out on her three years ago she’d been devastated, convinced her life was over. Wasn’t that why she’d yielded to her father’s urgings and agreed to a marriage of convenience with Raf—because she hadn’t really cared what happened to her? Wasn’t it?

Now it seemed that Simon had really gone for ever. But, instead of the devastation of pain she might have expected, she felt numb—hollowed out inside.

I should be weeping, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-mockery. Maybe I’m just too young for a broken heart.

And, after this, I won’t be looking for another man either. Once I’m free of this marriage, I’m going to starting living for myself.

She picked up her neglected wine. ‘To me,’ she said and drank deeply.

But the fact remained that she was still sharing her living space with Raf, for tonight at least. And, in spite of herself, she found she was sitting on the edge of the sofa, senses finely tuned to the signs of his presence upstairs. That she was tensing as she heard the bath water eventually running away. Listening for the opening of the bathroom door and the soft pad of bare feet going along the passage. Then, at long last, his bedroom door closing.

And that was the most welcome sound of all, she thought, her slim body sagging in relief.

She put the guard in front of the fire and extinguished the lights before going quietly upstairs herself.

She’d expected to find the bathroom a wet-floored shambles, but it was amazingly neat, his damp towel hanging on the hot rail.

There was a small ramshackle bolt on the door, which was more than could be said for her bedroom, and she slid it into place before beginning to refill the tub. Just a precaution, she told herself, and she was probably just being paranoid.

Raf was here on a face-saving exercise, that was all. His male pride had been damaged and perhaps, in retrospect, she’d been unwise to deride it. Maybe it would do no harm to apologise. Explain she’d spoken in the heat of the moment. Show that she could be reasonable.

All the same, her bath was not the long leisurely affair she’d originally planned. She dried herself quickly and put on one of the nightgowns she’d brought with her—a relic from her school-days, voluminous in brushed cotton, but warm, which was all that mattered.

As she went on tiptoe back to her room, she hesitated for a brief moment at the door opposite, but there wasn’t a sound. So maybe he was already sound asleep.

She closed her own door and leaned against it, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath, listening to the unbroken quiet.

After a moment she went over to the window and drew the curtain aside, wrinkling her nose at the swirl of white flakes dancing in front of her. It seemed to be snowing harder than ever, she thought, and while a sanctuary, however fragile it had proved, was one thing, being stranded by snowdrifts was something else completely.

Shivering, she dashed back to the bed and hopped in, pulling the duvet up to her chin as she waited for the first chill to subside. She stared up at the ceiling, letting thoughts, impressions, snatches of conversation tumble headlong through her mind.

Which achieved precisely nothing, apart from making her feel more on edge than ever. What she really needed was to turn off the lamp and go to sleep, she told herself firmly. Because things always looked better in the morning—didn’t they?

And at that moment her door opened with a faint creak and Raf came in. He was wearing a black silk robe, casually belted at the waist, and the rest of him was tawny skin as he moved towards her with an unhurried purpose that brought all her worst fears choking to the surface.

Propped on an elbow, Emily stared at him. ‘What—what do you want?’

‘We have matters to discuss,’ he said. ‘If you remember.’

‘But tomorrow.’ In spite of herself there was a quiver in her voice. ‘You said we’d talk tomorrow.’

‘It is already tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And have you never heard of pillow talk?’

His hands went to the sash of his robe and she shrank.

‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘No, Raf, please. You can’t do this. You promised me…’

‘At that time, I was dealing with a terrified child,’ he said softly. ‘But you told my lawyers that you were planning to remarry, so it seems you have outgrown your virginal fears and are a woman at last.’

‘But there’ll be no other marriage,’ she protested. ‘You—you know that.’

His brows lifted. ‘And you think that makes a difference? It does not.’

His voice hardened. ‘I have been astonishingly patient with you, Emilia, but you went too far with your demand for an annulment. And I intend to make quite certain you will never insult me in that way again.’

He shrugged off the robe and slid, naked, into the bed beside her.

He added softly, ‘I am sure you understand me.’