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 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Contessa,’ Raf supplied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her breath quickened. ‘No!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She gave a small jerky nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I meant to do that.’

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

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

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

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

‘Oh, God, it’s snowing again.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Would you like to learn?’

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

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

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

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

There was another silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘What else is there?’

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

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

‘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.