Читать книгу The Reluctant Husband - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

FRANKIE had a headache when she drifted back to wakefulness with a frown. But worse was to come. She lifted her heavy eyelids and focused not on her familiar bedroom but on a completely strange room. It was the most disorientating experience of her life.

Stone walls...stone walls? Massive antique furniture with more than an air of gothic splendour. Her mouth fell wide as she took in the narrow casement windows, for all the world like the windows of a castle. It was a vast room and the bed was of equally heroic proportions.

And only then did splinters of disconnected imagery return to her. She recalled a nun... nun? She remembered feeling horribly sick, and being so. She remembered being told firmly that she had to stay awake when all that she wanted to do was sleep because her head ached unbearably. All the pieces were confused but one particular image, which had strayed in and out of her hazy impressions, struck her afresh with stunning effect... Santino!

A flicker of movement at the corner of her vision jerked her head around. A lithe, dark male figure stepped out of the shadows into the soft pool of light by the bed. Everything came back at once in a rush. Planting two hands on the mattress beneath her, Frankie reeled up into a sitting position, a tangle of multicoloured hair flying round her flushed and taut face. ‘You!’ she exclaimed accusingly.

‘I’ll call the doctor,’ Santino responded, reaching forward to tug the tapestry bell-rope hanging beside the bed.

‘Don’t bother!’ Frankie asserted between clenched teeth, throwing back the sheet with the intention of getting up and then swaying as a sick wave of dizziness assailed her.

As she pressed her fingers to her swimming head, a pair of strong arms enclosed her and she was pushed firmly back down again on the pillows.

‘Get your hands off me!’ Frankie bit out, refusing to surrender to her own bodily weakness.

‘Shut up,’ Santino said succinctly, bending over her with a shockingly menacing expression stamped on his vibrantly handsome features. ‘Bad temper put you in that bed and it might have killed you!’

Frozen by outrage, Frankie gaped at him, emeraldgreen eyes almost out on shocked stalks that he should dare to speak to her like that ‘Your crazy games put me in this bed!’

‘Your injuries could have been far more serious,’ Santino told her with a most offensive edge of condemnation. ‘Had I not managed to break your fall, you might have suffered more than a sore head and concussion. You were unconscious for many hours!’

‘It’s your fault that I got hurt!’

‘My fault?’ Santino repeated incredulously. ‘You took a swing at me!’

“The next time, I won’t miss! Where the heck am I?’ Frankie flared back furiously. ‘I want to go home!’

‘But you are home. You are with me,’ Santino drawled in a soft tone of finality.

‘You’re nuts...you are absolutely stark, staring mad!’ Frankie exclaimed helplessly, huge, bewildered eyes pinned to him. ‘What did you do with my car?’

‘As you were no longer in need of it, I had it returned to the hire firm.’

The door opened, breaking the thrumming silence. A tall, distinguished man in his fifties entered the room. ‘I am Dr Orsini, Signora Vitale.’ He set a medical bag on the cabinet by the bed. ‘How are you feeling now that you have had some sleep?’

‘I am not Signora Vitale,’ Frankie said shakily, beginning to feel like somebody playing a leading role in a farce.

The doctor looked at Santino. Santino smiled, raised his lustrous dark eyes heavenward and shifted a broad shoulder in a small shrug.

‘What are you looking at him like that—for?’ Frankie launched suspiciously. ‘I am not this man’s wife, Dr Orsini. In fact I have never seen him before in my life!’ she concluded with impressive conviction.

The doctor studied her with narrowed eyes and a frown. Frankie looked with expectant triumph at Santino, but Santino was already lifting something off the enormous dressing table and extending it to the older man.

‘What’s that? What are you showing him?’ Frankie demanded jerkily, falling fast into the grip of nervous paranoia.

‘One of our wedding photographs, cara mia.’ Santino shot her rigid stillness a gleaming glance from beneath luxuriant black lashes and tossed the silver-framed photo onto the bed for her perusal.

Without reaching for it—indeed her fingers chose to clutch defensively into the bedspread instead—Frankie stared down fulminatingly at that photograph. Her throat closed over, the strangest lump forming round her vocal cords. There she was in all her old-fashioned wedding finery, sweet sixteen and so sickeningly infatuated that she glowed like a torch for all to see, her face turned up to Santino’s adoringly. Shame she hadn’t had the wit to notice that Santino’s smile had more than a suggestion of stoically gritted teeth about it than a similiar romantic fervour!

Quite irrationally, her eyes smarted with tears. Suddenly she appreciated that whether it was fair or not she really did hate Santino! He hadn’t had to go through with the wedding. When he had realised the gravity of the situation they were in, surely he could have smuggled her back out of the village again and sent her home to her mother in London? She refused to believe that he could not have found some other way out of their predicament, rather than simply knuckling down to her grandfather’s outrageous demand that he marry her!

The doctor was opening his bag when she lifted her head again. Throwing Santino an embittered glance, Frankie cleared her throat. ‘This man may once have been my husband but he is not any more. In fact—’

‘Cara...’ Santino chided in a hideously indulgent tone.

‘He stole my car!’ Frankie completed fiercely.

Carefully not looking at her, Dr Orsini said something in a low, concerned undertone to Santino. Santino sighed, contriving to appear more long-suffering than ever.

‘Did you hear what I said?’ Frankie’s voice shook.

The older man was too busy shaking his head in wonderment.

Santino strolled to the foot of the bed. ‘Francesca...’ he murmured. ‘I know I am not your favourite person right now, but these wild stories are beginning to sound a little weird.’

Her jaw dropped. She flushed scarlet and experienced such a spasm of frustrated fury that she was dimly surprised that she did not levitate off the bed. She slung Santino a blazing look that would have felled a charging rhino. It washed over him. For the very first time she recalled Santino’s wicked sense of humour. His sensual mouth spread into a teeth-clenchingly forgiving smile, white teeth flashing against his sun-bronzed skin. ‘Grazie, cara...’

‘You will be relieved to learn that the X-rays were completely clear,’ Dr Orsini told her in a bracing voice. He didn’t believe her; the man did not believe a word she had said!

‘X-rays...what X-rays?’ she mumbled.

‘You were X-rayed last night while you were still unconscious,’ Santino informed her.

‘Last night...?’ she stressed in confusion.

Santino nodded in grim confirmation. ‘You didn’t regain consciousness until the early hours of this morning.’

‘Where was I X-rayed?’ she pressed.

‘In the infirmary wing of the Convent of Santa Maria.’

Am I in a convent? Frankie wondered dazedly, her energy level seriously depleted by both injury and shock upon succeeding shock. In a room kept for the use of well-heeled private patients?

‘Your husband was most concerned that every precaution should be exercised,’ the older man explained quietly. ‘Try to keep more calm, signora.’

‘There’s nothing the matter with my nerves,’ Frankie muttered, but she couldn’t help noticing that nobody rushed to agree with her.

Her head was aching and her brain revolving in circles. While she endured a brief examination, and even answered questions with positive meekness, on one level she was actually wondering if she was still unconscious. All this—the strange environment, the peculiar behaviour of her companions—might simply be a dream. It was a most enticing conviction. But there was something horrendously realistic about Santino’s easy conversation with the doctor as he saw him to the door, apologising for keeping him out so late and wishing him a safe journey home. Her Italian was just about good enough to translate that brief dialogue.

As Santino strode back to the foot of the bed, Frankie reluctantly abandoned the idea that she was dreaming. With an unsteady hand, she reached for the glass of water by the bed and slowly sipped.

‘Are you hungry?’ Santino enquired calmly.

Frankie shook her head uneasily. Her stomach felt rather queasy. She snatched in a deep, quivering breath. ‘I want you to tell me what’s going on.’

Santino surveyed her with glittering golden eyes, his eloquent mouth taking on a sardonic curve. ‘I decided that it was time to remind you that you had a husband.’

Frankie froze. ‘For the last time...you are not my husband!’

‘Our marriage was not annulled, nor was it dissolved by divorce. Therefore,’ Santino spelt out levelly, ‘we are still married.’

‘No way!’ Frankie threw back. ‘The marriage was annulled!’

“Is that really your belief?’ Santino subjected her to an intent appraisal that made her pale skin flush.

‘It’s not just a belief,’ Frankie argued vehemently. ‘It’s what I know to be the truth!’

‘And the name of the legal firm employed on the task...it was Sweetberry and Hutchins?’ Santino queried.

Frankie blinked uncertainly. She had only once visited the solicitor, and that had been almost five years earlier. ‘Yes, that was the name... and the very fact that you know it,’ she suddenly grasped, ‘means that you know very well that we haven’t been married for years!’

‘Does it?’ Santino strolled over to the windows and gracefully swung back to face her again. ‘A marriage that is annulled is set aside as though it has never been in existence. So would you agree that if our marriage had been annulled so long ago I would have no financial obligation towards you?’

Confused as to what he could possibly be driving at, Frankie nodded, a tiny frown puckering her brows. ‘Of course.’

‘Then perhaps you would care to explain why I have been supporting you ever since you left Sardinia.’ Santino regarded her with cool, questioning expectancy.

‘Supporting...me?’ Frankie repeated in a tone of complete amazement. ‘You?’

‘I was expecting Diamond Lil to show up at the La Rocca hotel. The little Fiat was a surprise. A chauffeur-driven limo would have been more appropriate,’ Santino mused silkily.

Frankie released a shaken laugh. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been working for the past three years. I support myself. I have never received any money from you.’

Santino spread fluently expressive lean brown hands. ‘If that is true, it would appear that someone has committed fraud on an extensive scale since we last met.’

Her lashes fluttering in bemusement, Frankie studied him closely. He didn’t look as angry as he should have done, she thought dazedly. ‘Fraud?’ she repeated jerkily, the very seriousness of such a crime striking her. ‘But who...? I mean, how was the money paid?’

‘Through your solicitor.’

‘Gosh, he must be a real crook,’ Frankie mumbled, feeling suddenly weaker than ever, her limbs almost literally weighted to the bed. Santino had been paying money towards her support all these years? Even though she hadn’t received a penny of it, she was shattered by the news. Feeling as she did about him, she would never have accepted his money. He owed her nothing. In fact she felt really humiliated by the idea that he had thought he did have some sort of obligation towards her.

‘Forse...perhaps, but let us not leap to conclusions,’ Santino murmured, strangely detached from the news that someone had been ripping him off for years.

Frankie was thinking back to that one meeting she had had with ancient old Mr Sweetberry in his cluttered, dingy office. He had looked like a character out of a Charles Dickens novel, only lacking a pair of fingerless gloves. When he had realised that her marriage had taken place in a foreign country, he had looked very confused, as if it hadn’t previously occurred to him that people could get married outside the UK. In fact he had reacted with a blankness which hadn’t impressed Frankie at all. Her mother had then pointed out that Mr Sweetberry didn’t charge much for his services and that they could not afford to be too choosy.

‘Possibly,’ Santino remarked, ‘the guilty party might have been someone rather closer than your solicitor...’

Someone in Sardinia, someone on his side of the fence, she gathered he meant. Enormous relief swept over her, her own sense of responsibility eased by the idea. She felt incredibly tired but she still felt that she had to say it again. ‘I really wouldn’t have taken your money, Santino.’

Santino sent her a winging smile, alive with so much natural charisma that her heartbeat skidded into acceleration. ‘I believe you,’ he said quietly. ‘But the culprit must be apprehended, do you not think?’

‘Of course,’ Frankie eagerly agreed, grateful that he had accepted that she was telling the truth but still highly embarrassed by the situation he had outlined.

Without warning a sinking sensation then afflicted her stomach. All of a sudden she understood why Santino had been so determined to see her. He had obviously needed to talk about this money thing! She was mortified. She might pretty much loathe her ex-husband, but the knowledge that he had been shelling out for years in the belief that he was maintaining her could only make her feel guilty as hell. Had he found it difficult to keep up the payments? The quip about Diamond Lil suggested Santino had found it a burden. Frankie wanted to cringe.

‘And this greedy, dishonest individual—you...er... think this person should be pursued by the full weight of the law?’

Frankie groaned. ‘What’s the matter with you? I never thought you’d be such a wimp! Whoever’s responsible should be charged, prosecuted and imprisoned. In fact I won’t be at peace until I know he’s been punished, because this fraud has been committed in my name...and I feel awful about it!’

‘Not like hitting me any more?’

‘Well, not right now,’ Frankie muttered grudgingly.

Santino straightened the lace-edged sheet and smoothed her pillows. She didn’t notice.

‘If only you had explained right at the beginning,’ she sighed, feeling suddenly very low in spirits. ‘I suppose this is why you invited me to stay. You needed to talk about the money—’

‘I am ashamed to admit that I believed that you might have been party to the fraud.’

‘I understand,’ she allowed, scrupulously fair on the issue, and then, just as she was on the very edge of sleep, another more immediate anxiety occurred to her. ‘You’d better have me moved to another room, Santino...’

‘Why?’

‘My insurance won’t pay out for this kind of luxury—’

‘Don’t worry about it. You will not have to make a claim.’

Santino had such a wonderfully soothing voice, she reflected, smothering a rueful yawn. ‘I don’t want you paying the bill either.’

‘There won’t be one...at least...not in terms of cash,’ Santino mused softly.

‘Sorry?’

‘Go to sleep, cara.’

Abstractedly, just before she passed over the brink into sleep, she wondered how on earth Santino had produced that wedding photograph in a convent infirmary wing, but it didn’t seem terribly important, and doubtless there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. After all, she now knew exactly why Santino believed that they were still married. The perpetrator of the financial fraud had naturally decided to keep him in the dark about the annulment so that he would continue to pay.

The sun was high in the sky when Frankie woke up again. She slid out of bed. Apart from a dull ache still lingering at the base of her skull, she now felt fine. She explored the adjoining bathroom with admiring eyes. The fitments were quite sinfully luxurious. This was definitely not a convent infirmary wing. She was amused by her own foolish misapprehension of before. She was so obviously staying in a top-flight hotel! She reached for the wrapped toothbrush awaiting her and then stilled again.

Had this been Santino’s room? Had he given it up for her benefit? Was that why the photo had been sitting out? Why would Santino be carrying a framed photograph of their wedding around with him this long after the event? She frowned, her mouth tightening. She could think of only one good reason. And her mouth compressed so hard and flat, it went numb. Masquerading as a safely married man might well prevent his lovers from getting the wrong idea about the level of his commitment, she conceded in disgust. But then if Santino had genuinely believed that he was still a married man...?

That odd sense of depression still seemed to be hanging over her. She couldn’t understand it. Naturally she was upset that Santino should’ve assumed that she was happily living high off the fat of the land on his money, but she knew that she was not personally responsible for the fraud he had suffered. And he had believed her, hadn’t he? He also had to be greatly relieved to know that he wouldn’t have to pay another penny.

Diamond Lil... Just how much cash had he consigned into the black hole of someone else’s clever little fraud? Weren’t people despicable? All of a sudden she felt very sorry for Santino but ever so slightly superior. Evidently he wasn’t half as sharp as he looked or he would have put some check on his method of payment.

Her suitcase was sitting in the comer of the bedroom. As she dressed, she sighed. Santino must have been desperate to sort out this money business to go to the lengths of pretending that he wanted her to come and stay with him. Why would he have been staying in a hotel, though, if his home was nearby? And this was some hotel. How could he possibly afford a room like this? Unless this wasn’t a hotel but was, in fact, Santino’s home...

Frankie laughed out loud at that ridiculous idea even though her grandfather, Gino, had told her smugly that Santino was rich and a very good catch. In her eyes too, then, Santino had seemed rich. He had bought the largest house in Sienta for their occupation—an old farmhouse on the outskirts of the village. He had even carted a fancy washing machine home to her one weekend. Not that she had done much with it. She hadn’t understood the instructions and, after flooding the kitchen several times, she had merely pretended that she was using it. Of course, Santino had not seemed rich simply because he could afford a house and a car! He had just been considerably better off than anyone else in Sienta.

So therefore this had to be a hotel. Without further waste of time, Frankie pulled on loden-green cotton trousers and a toning waistcoat-style top with half-sleeves before she plaited her fiery hair. She discovered two new freckles on the bridge of her classic nose and scowled as she closed her case again, ready for her departure. A knock sounded on the door. A uniformed chambermaid entered with a breakfast tray and then shyly removed herself again. There was no hovering for a tip either.

While she ate with appetite, Frankie found her eyes returning again and again to that silver-framed photo sitting on the dressing table. Finally she leapt up and placed it face-down. Why had Santino kissed her yesterday? she suddenly asked herself. Curiosity now that she had grown up? Or had he actually started fancying her five years too late? Had her cold and businesslike attitude to him stung that all-male ego of his? Had he expected her still to blush and simper and gush over him the way she had as a teenager?

Frankie shuddered with retrospective chagrin, only wishing she had found some of that defensive distance in Santino’s arms. But, as for what she had imagined she felt, hadn’t she once been hopelessly infatuated with Santino? Doubtless that adolescent memory had heavily influenced her response. For a few dangerous seconds, the years had slipped back and she had felt like that lovelorn teenager again, a helpless victim of emotions and longings too powerful for her to control.

And if Frankie went back in time she could easily remember a much younger Santino, a tall, graceful, golden-skinned youth, who had looked startlingly akin to some pagan god of myth and legend. He had only been twenty then, still a student. While he was visiting his great-uncle, Father Vassari, the elderly priest had brought him to her grandfather’s house purely because Santino spoke English and nobody else in the village did.

In those early days Frankie had picked up little of the ancient Latin-based dialect her grandfather and his sisters, Maddalena and Teresa, had spoken within their tiny home. After months of isolation, the sound of her own language had released a flood of tears and frantic, over-emotional speech from her. She had begged Santino to find out where her father was and when he was returning to take her back to England.

He had suggested that they go for a walk. ‘I am not going to talk to you as if you are a little girl,’ Santino had told her wryly. ‘I will be frank. Father Vassari believes that you will be happier if you learn to accept that this village is now your home, for the foreseeable future at least.’

Scanning her shocked face, he had emitted a rueful sigh. ‘He understands that this life is not what you have been accustomed to and that you find your lack of freedom stifling, but you too must understand that your grandfather is unlikely to change his attitudes—’

‘I hate him!’ Frankie had gasped helplessly. ‘I hate everyone here!’

‘But you have your father’s blood in your veins, and therefore your grandfather’s too,’ Santino had reminded her, endeavouring to reason her out of her passionate bitterness and homesickness. ‘Gino acknowledges that bond. If he did not, he would not have accepted you into his home. You are part of his family—’

‘They’re not my family!’ she had sobbed wretchedly.

‘Maddalena would be very hurt to hear you say that. She seems to be very fond of you.’

Her shy great-aunt, who was wholly dominated by her sharp-tongued elder sister and her quick-tempered brother, had been the only member of the household to make any effort to ease Frankie’s misery. She had never shouted at Frankie when she heard her crying in the night. She had quietly attempted to offer what comfort she could.

‘I promise that I will try to locate your father, but in return you must make a promise to me,’ Santino had informed her gravely. ‘A promise you must study to keep for your own sake.’

‘What kind of promise?’

‘Stop running away. It only makes your grandfather angrier, only convinces him that you have been very badly brought up and cannot be trusted out of the house. He is a strict man, and your continued defiance makes him much nastier than he would normally be—’

‘Did Father Vassari say Grandfather was nasty?’ Frankie had prompted, wide-eyed.

‘Of course not.’ Santino had flushed slightly. ‘But Gino Caparelli has the reputation of being a stubborn, unyielding man. What you must do is bite your tongue in his presence and appear willing to do as you’re told, even if you don’t feel willing—’

‘I bet the priest never told you to tell me to act like a hypocrite!’

‘You’re smart for a twelve-year-old!’ Santino had burst out laughing when she’d caught him out. ‘My great-uncle is very devout, but he is sincerely concerned by your unhappiness. He wanted me to tell you to respect and obey your grandfather in all things—’

‘But you didn’t say that—’

‘Where there is as yet no affection, I think it would be too much to ask of you.’

‘I just want to go back to London,’ she had mumbled, the tears threatening again. ‘To my mum... my friends, my school—’

‘But for now you must learn to live with the Sardinian half of your family, piccola mia,’ Santino had told her ruefully.

He had been so straight with her and, after long, frightening months of being treated like an impertinent child whose needs and wishes were of no account, she had been heartened by Santino’s level approach. But then he had been clever. He had known how to win a respectful hearing, and the bait he had dangled in reward for improved behaviour had convinced her that he was on her side. She had trusted him to find out where her father was.

When he had brought instead the news of her father’s death in a car crash, she had been devastated. But, in the years which had followed, Santino had become Frankie’s lifeline. He had visited his great-uncle every couple of months, more often as the old man’s health had begun to fail, and Frankie had learnt to live for Santino’s visits for he always made time for her as well.

She had had nothing in common with her father’s family. It had been an unimaginable joy and relief to talk without fear of censure to Santino and just be herself. He had sent her English books and newspapers to read and she had started writing to him. His brief letters had kept her going between visits. Learning to love and rely on Santino had come so naturally to her.

As she dredged herself out of the past, Frankie found poignant memories of Gino, Maddalena and Teresa threatening to creep up out of her subconscious. Stiffening, she closed her Sard relatives out of her mind again. Her grandfather had ignored her letters in the last five years and that hadn’t been a surprise. He could neither have understood nor condoned the actions of a granddaughter who had deserted her husband. Her father’s family had thought the sun rose and set on Santino. In their ignorance of the true state of his marriage, they would have been angry and bitterly ashamed of her behaviour.

Frankie left her room. She emerged into a panelled corridor, lined with dark medieval paintings and beautiful rugs that glowed with the dull richness of age. When she saw a stone spiral staircase twisting up out of sight at the foot of the passageway, she was tempted to explore. Well, why not? If the villas on the Costa Smeralda were not to be made available to the agency, she was now technically on holiday. She really ought to give Matt a call, she conceded absently. He might be wondering why he hadn’t heard from her in three days.

Through the studded oak door at the top of the spiral flight of steps, Frankie stepped out onto the roof...or was it the ramparts? With astonished eyes, she scanned the big square towers rising at either end and then, walking over to the parapet, she gazed down in dizzy horror at the sheerness of the drop, where ancient stone met cliff-face far below her, and then she looked up and around, drinking in the magnificent views of the snowcapped mountains that surrounded the fertile wooded valley.

‘You seem to have made a good recovery.’

Frankie very nearly jumped out of her skin. Breathlessly she spun round. Santino was strolling towards her and this time he looked disturbingly familiar. Faded blue jeans sheathed his lean hips and long, powerful thighs, a short-sleeved white cotton shirt was open at his strong brown throat. He walked like the king of the jungle on the prowl, slow, sure-footed and very much a predator.

Sexy, she thought dizzily, struggling weakly to drag her disobedient gaze from his magnificent physique. Incredibly sexy. He was so flagrantly at home with his very male body, relaxed, indolent, staggeringly selfassured. She reddened furiously as he paused several feet away. He sank down with careless grace on the edge of the parapet, displaying the kind of complete indifference to the empty air and the terrifying drop behind him that brought Frankie out in a cold sweat.

‘I saw you from the tower. I thought you’d still be in bed,’ he admitted.

‘I’m pretty resilient,’ Frankie returned stiffly, thinking that it would mean little to her if he went over the edge but, all the same, she wished he would move.

‘One committed career woman, no less,’ Santino drawled, running diamond-bright dark eyes consideringly over the plain businesslike appearance she had contrived to present in spite of the heat. ‘To think you used to wash my shirts and shrink them.’

Frankie was maddened by the further flush of embarrassment that crept up her throat. It reminded her horribly of the frightful adolescent awkwardness she had once exhibited around Santino. Not that that surprised her. Santino was drop-dead gorgeous. Santino would make a Greek god look plain and homely because he had a quality of blazing vibrance and energy that no statue could ever match. If she hadn’t fancied him like mad all those years ago, there would have been something lacking in her teenage hormones, she told herself.

‘Did I really?’ she said in a flat, bored tone.

‘I always wondered if you boiled them,’ Santino mused, perversely refusing to take the hint that the subject was a conversation-killer.

‘Well, you should have complained if it bothered you,’

‘You were a marvellous cook.’

‘I enjoyed cooking for you about as much as I enjoyed scrubbing your kitchen floor!’ And she was lying; she hated the fact that she was lying and that, worst of all, he had to know that she was lying.

But what else had she known? The formal education she had received from the age of eleven had been minimal, but her domestic training as a future wife and mother had been far more thorough. Between them, her father’s family had seen to that. No matter how hard she had fought to preserve her own identity, she had in the end been indoctrinated with prehistoric ideas of a woman’s subservient place in the home. Endless backbreaking work and catering to some man’s every wish as though he were an angry god to be appeased rather than an equal... That was what she had been taught and that was what she had absorbed as her former life in London had begun to take on the shadowy and meaningless unreality of another world.

Her spine notched up another inch, bitter resentment at what she had been reduced to steeling her afresh. She had sung as she scrubbed his kitchen floor! She had thought she knew it all by then. She had thought that by marrying Santino, who said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and even, amazingly, ‘That’s too heavy for you to carry,’ she had beaten the system, but in truth she had joined it. She had been prepared to settle for whatever she could get if she could have Santino. For the entire six months of their marriage, she would not have accepted a plane ticket out of Sardinia had it been forced on her...

‘I did try to persuade you to resume your education,’ he reminded her drily.

‘Oh, keep quiet...stop dragging it all back up. It makes me feel ill!’ Frankie snapped, spinning away with smarting eyes.

He had wanted her to attend a further education college in Florence. Florence! The Caparellis had been aghast when she’d mentioned it. What kind of a husband sent his wife back to school? She could read, she could write, she could count—what more did he want? And Frankie had been genuinely terrified of being sent away to a strange city where her ignorance would be exposed, where the other students might laugh at her poor Italian and where, worst of all, she would not have Santino.

In her innocence, she had actually asked Santino if he would go to Florence with her, and he had said that he would only be able to visit because the demands of his job would not allow him to live there. Of course, in the kindest possible way, she conceded grudgingly, Santino had been trying to make the first step towards loosening the ties of their ridiculous marriage by persuading her into a separation and a measure of independence. He had known very well that she was so infatuated with him that she was unlikely to make a recovery as long as he was still around.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. He had even said that, yes, he would miss her very much but that he felt that she would greatly gain in self-confidence if she completed her education. And she had accused him then of being ashamed of her and had raced upstairs in floods of inconsolable tears. She had refused to eat for the rest of that weekend, had alternately sulked and sobbed every time he’d tried to reason with her. No, she reflected painfully, nobody could ever say that Santino had found marriage to his child-bride a bed of roses... or, indeed, any kind of a bed at all, she conceded with burning cheeks.

‘We have a lot to talk about,’ Santino commented flatly.

Tension hummed in the air. For the first time, Frankie became aware of that thick tension and frowned at the surprising coldness she was only now registering in Santino’s voice. Before, Santino had been teasing her, yet now he was undeniably distant and cool. She didn’t know him in this mood. The awareness disconcerted her and then made her angrily defensive.

‘On a personal basis we have nothing to talk about, but good luck with your fraud case!’ Frankie told him with a ferociously bright smile. ‘However, if you want to discuss the—’

‘If you mention those villas one more time, I will lose my temper. What are they to me? Nothing,’ Santino derided with a dismissive gesture of one lean hand. ‘The bait by which I brought you here, but now no more! Their role is played now.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what more you expect from me, and nor do I intend to hang around to find out,’ Frankie asserted, colliding with hard golden eyes that were curiously chilling, and, since that was not a sensation which she had ever associated with Santino before, she paled and tensed up even more.

‘You will. Your wings are now clipped. No longer will you fly free,’ Santino retorted with the cool, clear diction generally reserved for a child slow of understanding. ‘We are still married.’

‘Why do you keep on saying that?’ Frankie demanded in sudden flaring repudiation. ‘It’s just not true!’

‘Five years ago you made only a brief initial statement to your solicitor, who has since retired. I spoke to his son yesterday. He checked the files for me. His father advised you in a letter to consult another solicitor, one more experienced in the matrimonial field. No further action was taken,’ he completed drily.

Frankie trembled. There was something horribly convincing about Santino’s growing impatience with her. ‘If there’s been some stupid oversight, I’m sorry, and I promise that I’ll take care of it as soon as I go home again—’

‘Not on the grounds of non-consummation!’ Santino slotted in grimly.

‘Any grounds you like, for goodness’ sake...I’m not fussy,’ Frankie muttered, badly shaken by the idea that they might still be legally married.

‘Five years ago I would have agreed to an annulment.’ Santino surveyed her tense face with cool, narrowed eyes. ‘Indeed, then I considered it my duty to set you free. But that is not a duty which I recognise now. To be crude, Francesca... I now want the wife that I paid for.’

‘That you...what?’ Frankie parroted shakily.

‘I now intend to take possession of what I paid for. That is my right.’

Frankie uttered a strangled laugh that fell like a brick in the rushing silence. She stared at him incredulously. ‘You’re either crazy or joking...you’ve got to be joking!’

‘Why?’ Santino scanned her with fulminating dark golden eyes. ‘Let’s drop the face-saving euphemisms. For a start, you trapped me into marriage.’

Frankie flinched visibly. ‘I didn’t—’

Santino dealt her a quelling glance. ‘Don’t dare to deny it. Well do I recall your silence when you were questioned by your grandfather. I had never in my life laid a finger upon you but not one word did you say to that effect!’

Frankie studied the ground, belated shame rising inexorably to choke her. She had been so furious with Santino that awful night for taking her back to Sienta. She had been running away and, using him as an unsuspecting means of escape, had hidden herself behind the rear seat of his car. It had been an impulsive act, prompted by pure desperation...

Santino’s great-uncle, Father Vassari, had died that week. She had known that Santino would no longer have any reason to come to the village. She had been in disgrace on the home front too. Incapable of hiding her feelings for Santino, she had stirred up the sort of malicious local gossip that enraged her grandfather. Furious with her, he had told her that she could no longer even write to Santino.

Santino hadn’t discovered her presence in his car until he’d stopped for petrol on the coast. It had been the one and only time he had ever lost his temper with her. His sheer fury had crushed her. Deaf to her every plea for understanding and assistance, he had stuffed her forcibly back into the car and driven her all the way back home, but it bad been dawn by the time they got there. In Gino Caparelli’s eyes, her overnight absence in male company had ruined her reputation beyond all possibility of redemption. He had instantly demanded that Santino do the honourable thing and marry her.

‘Grandfather knew nothing had happened,’ Frankie began in a wobbly voice, struggling to find even a weak line of self-defence.

‘And I knew that after what you had done your life would be hell in that house if I didn’t marry you! I let conscience persuade me that you were my responsibility. And what did I receive in return?’ Santino prompted witheringly. ‘A bride who took her teddy bear to bed...’

Frankie’s colour was now so high, she was convinced it would take Arctic snow to cool her down again.

‘Hamish the teddy with the tartan scarf.’ Santino studied her with grim amusement. ‘Believe me, he was a hundred times more effective than any medieval chastity belt.’

Intense chagrin flooded her. Her teeth gritted as she threw her head high. ‘You said...you said that you wanted a wife—’

‘I already have one. I also have custody of Hamish,’ Santino informed her satirically as he rose fluidly upright again. ‘I’d say that makes my claim indisputable.’

‘You don’t have any claim over me!’

‘Have you packed?’ Meeting her stunned scrutiny, Santino repeated his question.

‘Yes, but—’

‘Bene...then, since you are no longer in need of further rest, we will waste no more time.’ Santino opened the oak door and, standing back, regarded her expectantly.

The tip of Frankie’s tongue slid out to wet her lower lip. She continued to stare helplessly at him. ‘Why are you doing this...? I mean, what’s going on?’

‘Really, Francesca...are you always this slow on the uptake?’ Santino chided, an ebony brow elevating with sardonic cool. ‘You really shouldn’t have lied to me.’

‘L-lied?’ Frankie stammered as he pressed her firmly past him and down the spiral stone steps. ‘I haven’t told you any lies!’

‘I would have been far more understanding if you had made a complete confession when I confronted you. But lies make me incredibly angry,’ Santino drawled softly. ‘When I found out the truth this morning, I was very tempted to come upstairs, tip you out of that bed and shake you until the teeth rattled in your calculating, devious little head!’

‘What are you talking about?’ Frankie exclaimed.

‘Your forty-eight per cent share of Finlay Travel.’ Santino shot her a glittering look of condemnation from icy cold dark eyes. ‘You shameless little bitch... You actually fished your lover out of a financial hole with my money!’

Frankie was so taken aback by that insane accusation, she could only gape at him.

‘Now, I didn’t expect to receive my bride back in a state of untouched virginal purity. Nor did I expect to be greeted with open arms, gratitude or any lingering delusion on your part that I could walk on water!’ Santino spelt out with sizzling derision. ‘Indeed, I believed that my expectations were thoroughly realistic. But I was not prepared to discover that for the past five years you’ve been in collusion with that greedy, grasping vixen who brought you into the world!’