Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: April 2018 Books 1 – 4 - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 17

CHAPTER EIGHT

JAZZ WAS UNPREPARED for the barrage of journalists and photographers who awaited their arrival at the airport in the capital city of Lerovia, Leburg. The amount of interest taken in her arrival with Vitale was phenomenal and she was no longer surprised by his request that she remove her wedding ring before their flight landed. Amidst the shouted madness of questions, flash photography and outright staring, Jazz felt as though she had briefly strayed into some mirror world, terrifyingly different from her own.

‘The press know about the ball and my mother is too outspoken for there to be much doubt about its purpose, which was to find me a wife,’ Vitale told her very drily when they had finally escaped into the peace of a limousine with tinted windows and a little Lerovian flag on the bonnet. ‘So, obviously my arrival in Leburg with a woman is a source of great speculation.’

‘But surely you’ve brought other women here?’ Jazz exclaimed, still a little shaken up by her first encounter with the press en masse.

‘You’re the first. My affairs have always been kept off the radar and discreet,’ Vitale explained reluctantly. ‘Unlike Angel, I was never an international playboy and until today I have not been much troubled by the attentions of the paparazzi.’

‘Did I hear someone shout a question about the engagement ring?’

‘There were several, some in Italian and German,’ Vitale advanced. ‘That’s why I gave it to you.’

‘No, you gave it to me when you did because I was in a funk and you were trying to distract me,’ Jazz told him wryly. ‘Although I’ve no doubt you planned for me to arrive here flashing it.’

She liked the last word. His mother did as well. But somehow when Jazz cut in with one of her cute little last words, it didn’t annoy him to the same degree, although her ability to read his motives unsettled him and made him feel tense. His lean, strong face clenched hard because he had already been tense. He hated conflict with Queen Sofia because it was a challenge to fight back when he was forced to give his aggressor the respect and obligation due to his monarch. It could never be a fair battle.

Jazz was merely relieved that she had put on an elegant dress and jacket for her arrival in Lerovia and had braided her hair, which left loose could look untidy. It had not escaped her attention that Vitale had grown steadily grimmer the closer they got to the country of his birth. Did he hate living in Lerovia, she wondered, or was it simply the problems he had dealing with his mother, the Queen?

She peered out at the city of Leburg, which appeared to have a skyline that could have rivalled Dubai’s. It was an ultramodern, fully developed European city and a tax haven with very rich inhabitants, which she had learned from her own research on the internet. Furthermore, the man she had married, the father of her unborn twins, might be the heir to the Lerovian throne but he was also the CEO of the Bank of Lerovia. He hadn’t told her any of that but then Vitale had never been much of a talker when it came to himself, so she wasn’t the least offended by his omissions. In any case, she was perfectly capable of doing her own homework concerning the country where she was to live for the foreseeable future. Italian, German and English were widely spoken in Lerovia and many residents were from other countries.

The royal family had ruled Lerovia since the thirteenth century, which had disconcerted Jazz because for some reason she had always assumed that the Castiglione family were more recent arrivals. The ruling family, numbering only mother and son, lived in Ilrovia Castle, a white, much turreted and very picturesque building in the hills just outside the city.

Stealing a glance at Vitale’s taut bronzed profile, she suddenly found herself reaching for his hand. ‘You’re not on your own in this,’ she reminded him quietly. ‘We got married for the sake of the children. I’m as much involved as you are.’

‘No, you won’t be. I won’t put you in the path of my mother’s spite. The Queen is my cross to bear,’ he said very drily, quietly easing his fingers free. ‘In any case, you’re pregnant and you shouldn’t be upset in any way.’

‘Nonsense!’ Jazz parried roundly, her backbone of steel stiffening but her pride and her heart hurt by the way he had instantly freed her hand. She gritted her teeth, inwardly urging herself to be patient and not to expect change overnight.

But even so, Vitale had been very different over their Italian weekend. He had been relaxed, not once retreating into the reserved and rather chilly impersonal approach that she was beginning to appreciate was the norm for him in public places or with strangers. Change had loomed only when they had landed in Lerovia, which really said it all, she thought ruefully. In her very bones, she was aware that she was soon to meet the mother-in-law from hell and that she had absolutely no defensive armour with which to fight back.

After all, she was the daughter of a humble housekeeper with no impressive ancestors, a little better educated than those ancestors but still without the official sanction of a degree even if she had almost completed one. And she was pregnant into the bargain, she conceded ruefully. She didn’t qualify as an equal in Vitale’s world. To put it bluntly, and Clodagh had, Jazz had married up in her aunt’s parlance and Vitale had married down. Well, she was what she was and perfectly happy on her own account but it seemed only reasonable to expect the Queen of Lerovia to be severely disappointed in her son’s choice of bride.

The car purred through a medieval stone archway guarded by soldiers, who presented arms in acknowledgement of Vitale’s arrival. Jazz struggled not to feel intimidated as they entered a giant, splendidly furnished hall awash with gleaming crystal chandeliers and grand gilded furniture. Vitale immediately turned left to head up a staircase to one side.

‘I have my private quarters in the castle. The Queen lives in the other wing and the ground houses the royal ceremonial apartments where official events are held and where we entertain,’ Vitale told her on the stairs.

‘You do realise that that is the only information you have ever given me about Lerovia?’ Jazz remarked drily.

Vitale paused on the landing, dark golden eyes visibly disturbed by that observation.

‘Oh, don’t worry. The internet made up for your omission,’ Jazz assured him ruefully. ‘I’ve picked up the basics. It was interesting. I had no idea your family had been ruling here for so many generations or that gay people still live a restricted life here.’

He clenched his jaw. ‘The Queen will countenance nothing that goes against church teaching. Unfortunately, the monarch in Lerovia also still has the right to veto laws proposed by parliament,’ he admitted. ‘I wasn’t joking when I warned you that we lived in the past here.’

‘Some day you’ll be able to shake it up a little,’ Jazz pointed out as he guided her through a door into a hallway that was surprisingly contemporary in contrast to the rather theatrical ground-floor décor.

‘That day is a long way off,’ Vitale intoned with firm conviction. ‘The Queen will never voluntarily give up power.’

Jazz wandered round her new home, followed by two members of Vitale’s domestic staff, Adelheid the housekeeper and Olivero, the butler. Both spoke excellent English and she learned that Vitale’s wing had originally been the nursery wing devoted to his upbringing and in complete isolation from his mother’s living accommodation. Obviously, the Queen was not the maternal type, Jazz acknowledged, knowing that she would never accept her children being housed at such a distance from her and solely tended to by staff. The more little glimpses she gained of Vitale’s far from sunny childhood, the better she understood him.

Their spacious home stretched to three floors and steps led down from the big airy drawing room to the gardens. Jazz was smothering yawns by the time the official tour reached the master bedroom, which was decorated in subtle shades of green and grey. She was introduced to her maid, Carmela, who was already unpacking her luggage to fill the large, well-appointed dressing room off the bedroom. A maid, her own maid, she thought in awed disbelief.

Vitale entered after the maid had gone and found Jazz lying down on the bed with her shoes and jacket removed.

‘I thought I’d go for a nap before I start getting ready for the ball. I’m really quite sleepy,’ she confided, pushing herself up on her elbows, the braid she had undone to lie down now a tumbling mass of vibrant tresses falling over one shoulder, the arch of her spine pushing her breasts taut up against the fine silk bodice of her dress.

Vitale studied her with brutally male appreciation and a heat she was instantly aware of, his dark eyes scorching hot with the thought of possibilities, and something clenched low in her body, the stirring primal impulses of the same hunger.

‘I’ll leave you in peace,’ he began.

‘No,’ Jazz countered, reaching out her hand to close into his sleeve. ‘I’m not that tired.’

Vitale dealt her a sizzling smile that sent butterflies tumbling in her tummy and bent his head to kiss her, both his hands sinking into the torrent of her hair. Excitement leapt into her slender body like a lightning bolt and then just as suddenly the bedroom door burst noisily open. Vitale released her instantaneously and Jazz thrust herself up on her hands, her face flushed with annoyance and embarrassment as she focused on the woman who had stalked into their bedroom without so much as a warning knock. Even worse, a gaggle of goggle-eyed people were peering in from the corridor outside.

‘Close the door, Vitale,’ Jazz murmured flatly, staring at the enraged blonde, garbed in a stylish blue suit and pearls, standing mere feet away. ‘We don’t need an audience for this—’

‘Oh, I think we do, leave the door wide, Vitale,’ Queen Sofia cut in imperiously. ‘I’d like an audience to see your red-headed whore being thrown out of the palace.’

Vitale closed the door and swung round. ‘I will not tolerate so rude an intrusion, nor will I tolerate such abuse.’

‘You will tolerate whatever I ask you to tolerate because I am your Queen!’ the blonde proclaimed with freezing emphasis. ‘I want this creature gone. I don’t care how you do it but it must be done before the ball this evening.’

‘If my fiancée leaves, I will accompany her,’ Vitale parried.

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ his mother screeched at him, transforming from ice to instant fiery fury.

A woman with no volume control, Jazz registered, only just resisting the urge to physically cover her ears. The Queen shot something at Vitale in outraged Italian and the battle commenced, only, frustratingly, Jazz had no idea what was being said. Vitale’s mother seemed to be concentrating on trying to shout him down while Vitale himself spoke in a cool, clipped voice Jazz had never heard him employ before, his control absolute.

‘Jazz will be my partner at the ball this evening,’ Vitale declared in clarifying English. ‘Nothing you can say or do will change that.’

‘She’s a servant’s daughter... Oh, yes, I’ve found out all about you!’ Queen Sofia shot triumphantly at Jazz, her piercing pale blue eyes venomous.

Jazz slid off the bed and stood up, instantly feeling stronger.

‘You’re a nothing, a nobody, and I don’t know what my son’s doing with you because he should know his duty better than anyone.’

‘As you have often reminded me, my duty is to marry and produce a child,’ Vitale interposed curtly. ‘Jazz is the woman I have chosen.’

‘I will not accept her and therefore she has to go!’ The older woman cast the file she had tightly gripped in one hand down on the bed beside Jazz. ‘Have a look at the candidates I selected. You couldn’t compete with a single one of those women! You have no breeding and no education, none of the very special qualities required to match my son’s status.’

‘Get out,’ Vitale breathed with chilling bite, closing a firm hand to the older woman’s arm to lead her back to the door. ‘You have said what you came to say and I will not allow you to abuse Jazz.’

‘If you bring her to the ball, I will not acknowledge her!’ Queen Sofia threatened. ‘And I will make your lives hell!’

‘I imagine Vitale is quite used to you making his life hell,’ Jazz opined dulcetly, her head held high as the older woman stared at her in disbelief, much as though a piece of furniture had moved forward and dared to address her. ‘And as long as I have Vitale by my side, you will not intimidate me with your threats either.’

‘Are you going to let this interloper speak to your Queen like that?’ his mother raged.

In answer, Vitale strode forward and addressed his mother in an angry flood of English, a dark line of colour edging his hard cheekbones. The older woman tried to shout him down but Vitale slashed an authoritative silencing hand through the air and continued in the same splintering tone, ‘You will not call my fiancée vile names ever again. You will not force your way into my private quarters again either. I am an adult, not a child you can bully and disrespect. Other people may tolerate such behaviour from you but I no longer will. Be careful, Mother, very careful because your future plans could easily fall apart. Your insolence is intolerable and if it continues I will leave the palace and I will leave Lerovia,’ he completed harshly. ‘I will not live anywhere where my fiancée is viciously abused.’

The Queen was pale and seemed to have shrunk in size. She opened her mouth but then just as suddenly closed it again, visibly shattered by his threat to leave the country. As she left, Vitale shut the door firmly again.

For an instant there was complete silence. Jazz was shaken by his vigorous defence but still unconvinced by his decision not to tell the whole truth immediately.

‘You should have told your mother that the deed was already done and that you are married,’ Jazz told him unhappily. ‘Why wait to break that final bit of news when she’s already in such a snit?’

‘I have my own ways of dealing with my mother,’ Vitale countered curtly. ‘Don’t interfere and give her another excuse to attack you.’

‘There’s more than one way of skinning a rabbit!’ Jazz tossed back at him, determined to fight her corner as best she could. ‘Could you have my cases brought back in?’

Vitale froze, a winged ebony brow lifting. ‘Why would you want your cases?’

‘Because if your mother is free to walk into our bedroom any time she likes, I’m not staying,’ Jazz told him bluntly.

‘Dannazione...’ Vitale swore with clenched fists of frustration. ‘You heard what I told her.’

‘I just witnessed a grown woman throwing a tantrum and hurling outrageous insults with apparent impunity. Being royal, being a queen, does not excuse that kind of behaviour.’

Vitale ground his teeth together and raked long brown fingers through his cropped blue-black hair. ‘I agree,’ he conceded. ‘But I threatened to leave this country if she interferes again and that shocked her.’

‘Ask for my cases, Vitale,’ Jazz urged, refusing to listen. ‘We could have been in bed when your mother walked in and she wouldn’t have cared.’

In a provocative move, Vitale settled his broad shoulders back against the door and braced his long powerful legs. ‘You can’t leave. I won’t let you,’ he told her lethally.

‘If you can’t protect me in your own home, I’m leaving.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Vitale murmured, dark eyes glittering with challenge even as he stood his ground. ‘You will be protected. I will accept nothing less.’

In reality Jazz was more incensed by his stubborn refusal to take her advice. ‘I still think you need to tell the Queen now that we are married, I’m pregnant and that the marriage is only a temporary measure,’ she countered between stiff lips.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ Vitale could feel his temper suddenly taking a dangerous and inexplicable leap forward again.

Jazz angled her head back, aware of the flare of angry gold brightening his forceful gaze but quite unafraid of it. ‘Well, of course I don’t... You don’t tell me anything. It’s all too personal and private for you to share, so you hoard all your secrets up like a miser with treasure!’ she condemned resentfully.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Vitale shot back at her quellingly.

But Jazz was in no mood to be quelled. ‘You had no problems telling me that I would only be your wife until the twins are born, so I can’t understand why you would be so obstinate about sharing that same information with your mother! After all, she’ll undoubtedly be delighted to hear that I’m not here to stay.’

At that unsought reminder of the terms he himself had laid down, Vitale’s lean, strong features set like a granite rock and the rage he was struggling to control surged even higher. ‘Now you are making a most inappropriate joke of our situation, which I intensely dislike.’

Jazz’s green eyes took on an emerald glow of rage at that icily angry assurance because if there was one thing that drove her mad, it was Vitale aiming that icy chill at her. She had been proud of him when he’d targeted his mother with that chill though. ‘Oh, do you indeed? I intensely dislike a stranger blundering into what is supposed to be the marital bedroom when we’re on the bed! She’s the kind of royal who gives me Republican sympathies! I will never ever forget that woman calling me a whore and I won’t forgive her for it either, no, not even if she apologises for it.’

‘The Queen does not do apologies. You are safe from that possibility,’ Vitale derided. ‘Now, you will calm down and have lunch, which is being prepared.’

‘You will not tell me to calm down!’ Jazz raged back at him. ‘I will shout if I feel like it.’

‘You’re pregnant. You need to keep calm,’ Vitale proclaimed.

‘That is not an excuse to shut me up!’ Jazz hissed back at him.

Vitale startled her by striding forward without warning and lifting her off her feet to settle her down squarely on the bed she had only recently vacated. ‘It is the only excuse I need. Lunch will wait until you have rested.’

‘Do I look like I’m in the mood to rest?’ Jazz argued fierily.

‘No, but you know it’s the sensible option and you have to think about them.’ Vitale unsettled her even more by resting his hand with splayed fingers across her stomach. ‘Neither of us want you to run the risk of a miscarriage by getting overexcited and pushing yourself too hard when you’re already exhausted and stressed. The ball tonight will tire you even more,’ he reminded her grimly.

Jazz had paled and she closed her eyes, striving for self-control, but she was still so mad at him and frustrated that it was an appalling struggle to hold back the vindictive words bubbling on her tongue. And then her green eyes flew wide again, crackling with angry defiance. ‘Surely a miscarriage would suit—’

Vitale froze, wide sensual mouth setting hard, dark golden eyes flashing censorious reproach. ‘Don’t you dare say that to me!’ he breathed in a raw undertone. ‘They are my children too and I want them, no matter how inconvenient their timing may be! No matter how much trouble their conception may have caused us!’

Jazz had stilled, her anger snuffed out at source by the wrathful sincerity she saw in his gaze and heard in his voice. ‘I thought you didn’t want children,’ she reminded him.

‘I thought so too but for some reason I’m getting excited by the idea of them now,’ Vitale admitted reluctantly.

Surprisingly, a kind of peace filtered in to drain away her anger. She was ashamed of what anger had provoked her into saying to him but soothed too by her first real proof that Vitale truly did want their unborn children, regardless of their situation. Given sufficient time, he too had adjusted his attitude and his outlook had softened, readying him for change. She closed her eyes again, drained by the early morning start to the day, the travel and all that had followed their arrival at the palace. Fit and healthy though she was, the exhaustion of early pregnancy was pushing her to her limits and the imminent prospect of the ball simply made her suppress a groan.

Vitale glowered down at her prone figure. She had lost her temper, lost control, he reasoned grimly, had barely known what she was saying. Wasn’t that why he guarded his own temper? But during that scene with his mother one unmistakable reality had powered Vitale. His wife and his children had to come first because they depended on him. His mother, in comparison, was surrounded by supporters comprised of flattering subordinates and socially ambitious hangers-on, not to mention her chief lady-in-waiting, the Contessa Cinzia, who had never been known to contradict her royal mistress.

Jazz only stirred when a maid entered the room bringing a tray and she sat up with a start, blinking rapidly while wondering what was crackling beneath her hips. Her seeking hand drew out a file and a dim memory of the Queen tossing it there surfaced.

‘Thank you,’ she told the maid. ‘I’ll eat at the table.’

She settled the file down on the table by the window. Carmela informed her that her hair and make-up stylist would be arriving in half an hour and, killing the urge to roll her eyes at that information, Jazz lifted her knife and fork and then paused to open the file...