Читать книгу His Reluctant Bride: The Marchese's Love-Child / The Count's Blackmail Bargain / In the Millionaire's Possession - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 11

SHE walked into the restaurant beside him, moving like an automaton. His hand was under her arm as if she was in custody, as they followed the head waiter to yet another corner table.

‘They have a new chef here,’ Sandro told her as he took his place beside her. His sleeve, she realised, was only a few inches from her bare arm. Altogether too close for comfort. ‘And the food is said to be very good,’ he added.

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ she said. ‘Is this hotel part of the Comadora chain, by any chance?’

‘We acquired it six months ago.’

‘I see.’ She played nervously with the cutlery. ‘Will—will you tell me something?’

His gaze sharpened. ‘If I can,’ he said, after a pause.

‘When we first met—why didn’t you tell me who you really were? Why did you let me think you were simply a minor hotel employee?’

‘Because that is exactly what I was,’ he said. ‘I had been travelling round all the hotels in the group to learn the trade, working in every department, so I could see what shape they were in.

‘Traditionally my family has always been involved in agriculture and banking. The hotels were acquired in the nineteenth century by one of my ancestors who is said to have won them in a poker game.

‘When my father inherited them, he wanted to get rid of them. He had no interest in tourism. But I felt differently. I thought managing the chain—updating and improving it—would be more interesting than citrus fruit and olive oil, or sitting in some air-conditioned office in Rome.

‘So I was working incognito, and compiling a report that I hoped would convince my father to keep the hotels and invest in them.’

‘But I wasn’t involved with any hotels,’ Polly protested. ‘I worked for an independent tour company. You could have told me the truth.’

He said quietly, ‘Paola, as the Valessi heir, I brought a lot of baggage with me. We are a wealthy family, and there had been women in my life whose sole priority was my money. I had become—wary.’

He spread his hands. ‘You had no idea who I was, and yet you wanted me—for myself. For Sandro Domenico. I found that—irresistible. Can you understand that?’

‘I understand.’ There was a constriction in her throat. ‘But your money must have been useful when you needed to be rid of—someone.’

His mouth hardened. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘In the end, it usually came down to—money.’ He paused. ‘Is that all you want to ask?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I have a hundred questions. But I’m not sure you’d be prepared to answer them all.’

‘No?’ He sent her a meditative look. ‘Try me.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Well—the scar on your cheek. I was wondering how that happened.’

‘I was in an accident,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘In the hills above Comadora. My car left the road on a bend and plunged into a ravine. I was thrown clear, but badly injured. My life was saved by a local man who found me, and administered some rough first aid before the ambulance got to me.’

It was a bald recital of the facts—something he’d clearly done many times before. He spoke as if it no longer had the power to affect him, but Polly could sense the tension in him.

She stared down at the immaculate white tablecloth. She said quietly, ‘You were—lucky.’

You could have died, she thought, the breath catching in her throat. You could have been killed so easily. And I—I might never have known just how much I had to mourn.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Fortunate, indeed.’ His eyes were hooded as he looked at her. ‘Do you require further details?’

Oh, God, Polly thought. I know what I have to ask—but I don’t want to hear the answer.

She took a deep breath. She said, ‘When did it happen? Was anyone else involved—in the crash?’

‘Three years ago. I had a passenger,’ he said levelly. ‘A girl called Bianca DiMario. She—did not get clear.’

Polly stared at him, aware of the sudden chill spreading through her veins. She said hoarsely, ‘That’s—terrible.’

She wanted to stop there—to ask nothing more. But that was impossible, of course.

I have to go on, she thought, steeling herself. I—I have to know.

‘You—you were close? You knew her well?’ She was a casual acquaintance? You were just giving her a lift? Please say that’s all it was—please …

‘I had known her for most of my life,’ he said quietly. ‘She came to live at the palazzo with her aunt, the contessa, at my father’s invitation. Bianca’s parents were both dead, and the contessa was a widow who had been left with little money.

‘My father had a strong sense of family, and he considered it a duty and an honour to care for them both.’ He paused. ‘Bianca was also intended to be the next Marchesa Valessi,’ he added, evenly. ‘The announcement of our engagement had been planned for the week after the accident.’

Polly was reduced to stricken silence as the pain returned, twisting inside her. She could see so clearly now why he’d had to get rid of her with such indecent haste—and offered such a high price to achieve that.

She’d become an embarrassment, she thought. Their affair an insult to his future wife.

She bent her head. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said huskily. ‘It must have been utterly ghastly—to lose the girl you were going to marry in such a way.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was the worst time of my life. Something I cannot let myself forget.’ His faint smile was grim. ‘So I keep the scar to remind me how I was robbed forever of my chance of happiness.’

How can I listen to this? she asked herself imploringly. How can I let him hurt me all over again? She wanted to throw herself at him, hitting him with her fists, and screaming that she mattered too.

She wanted to weep until she had no tears left.

With a supreme effort, she mastered herself.

‘The accident,’ she said. ‘Does anyone know what caused it?’ How could she speak normally—discuss this terrible thing when she was falling apart inside? When she had to face all over again that everything he’d ever said to her—promised her—had been a lie?

Sandro shrugged. ‘The inquiry found a burst tyre on my car, so I was—exonerated. But I still have to live with the memory.’

And I, Polly thought, shall have to live with your betrayal of me—and I don’t know if I can do that. I think you may be asking the impossible.

She met his gaze. ‘Bigamy,’ she said clearly. ‘Is that another Valessi family tradition? Because you seem to have been engaged to two women at one time.’

He sighed harshly. ‘I should never have let things go so far, and I know it.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Believe me, I have been well punished for my silence.’

‘Bianca.’ She forced herself to say the name. ‘Did she—know about me?’

A muscle moved beside his mouth. ‘Yes.’ One small, uncompromising word.

‘I see,’ she said. She was silent for a moment. ‘So—I was the only fool.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I meant to tell you everything. To explain, and ask you to forgive me. But then the crash came, and after that—everything changed.’ His smile was icy. ‘As you know.’

‘Yes,’ Polly said almost inaudibly. She paused. ‘It must have been awful for the contessa too—to lose her niece.’ She forced a smile. ‘No wonder she doesn’t like me.’

He sighed again. ‘Paola mia, Bianca has been dead for three years. Zia Antonia has to accept that.’

‘And she still lives at the palazzo—in spite of it all?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I could hardly ask her to leave. Besides, I am often away, and she currently manages the house and estate for me.’

‘So she’s bound to have constant reminders of Bianca.’ Polly hesitated. ‘And three years isn’t all that long—when you care deeply for someone.’ She took a breath. ‘After all, you must think about her too.’

She saw his face harden, his hand lift as if to touch his scarred cheek, then fall again.

‘Sì,’ he said harshly. ‘I think about her. And three years can seem an eternity.’

I asked for that, Polly thought wretchedly. A self-inflicted wound.

She said in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.’

‘You had to know,’ he said. ‘And I wished to explain. But up to now, you have shown no curiosity about the past.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Who knows? I might have spent all these years in the Regina Coeli prison for robbery with violence.’ He put his hand briefly over hers. ‘So, is there nothing else you wish to ask me?’

For a moment, she thought she detected a note of pleading in his voice. But that was ridiculous. Sandro had never pleaded in his life.

And there were questions teeming in her brain, falling over themselves to escape. But she knew she could not bear to hear the answers. The news about Bianca had been as much as she could take today.

She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing I need to know. After all, it’s not as if ours will be a real marriage. It’s just an arrangement, for Charlie’s sake. So, it’s better if we can keep our lives separate—and private.’

He was silent for a moment, then he inclined his head almost wryly. ‘As you wish.’

The food when it came was delicious, but Polly might as well have been chewing sawdust. She had to force every mouthful past the tightness in her throat, helped down by the Orvieto Classico he’d chosen. Because she couldn’t allow Sandro to glimpse her inner agony.

He broke my heart once, she thought. I can’t allow him to do that again. Especially when I know that he could—all too easily. And she sighed quietly.

When the largely silent meal was finally over, Polly found her next ordeal was accompanying Sandro up to the penthouse to inspect her temporary home.

She’d hoped she would find some insoluble problem with the accommodation, but the bright, airy rooms with their masses of fresh flowers seemed just about perfect.

To her unspoken relief, the bedrooms were well apart, facing each other from opposite sides of the large and luxurious drawing room. And each had its own bathroom, so she could hardly complain about a lack of privacy.

‘Will you be comfortable here?’ he asked, watching her prowl around. ‘I hope it has everything you want.’

‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Except the freedom to make decisions, and live my own life.’

‘A trifle, surely.’ Sandro’s tone was solemn, but his eyes were glinting in sudden amusement. ‘When the cage you occupy is so beautifully gilded. Also unlocked.’ He produced a key from his pocket. ‘For your bedroom door,’ he said. ‘In case I walk in my sleep.’

Her heart missed a beat, but she spoke lightly. ‘You’d soon wake up when Charlie started yelling.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘When are we picking him up from your friends? Time’s moving on, and I still have to go back to the flat and pack our things.’

‘I have arranged for two of the girls from Administration here to do that for you,’ Sandro said calmly, meeting her fulminating gaze head-on. ‘I told them to bring the minimum. I will have the remainder suitably disposed of.’

‘My God,’ she said furiously. ‘You take a lot upon yourself. Is this part of your campaign to force me to buy new clothes?’

He smiled at her. ‘No, I am relying on Teresa to do that,’ he said. ‘She cannot wait to take you shopping.’

‘I can buy my own damned things,’ Polly threw at him. ‘And I don’t need a minder.’

‘I hope she will be much more than that,’ he told her with a trace of chill. ‘Her husband is one of my greatest friends, and I was best man at their wedding. They have been—good to me in return.’

He paused. ‘You are going to a new life, Paola, with its own demands. As my wife, you will be expected to patronise Italian designers. How many do you know? What formal clothes will you need? How many dinner dresses—how many ballgowns?

‘This is a world Teresa knows, and you can trust her advice.’ He paused. ‘She can also help you in another way. Before she married Ernesto, she worked as a linguist. So you may practice speaking Italian to her. Start to regain your former fluency.’

Her face warmed suddenly as she recalled precisely how that proficiency had been acquired during those long, hot afternoons a lifetime ago. The things he had whispered to her as she lay in his arms—and taught her to say to him in return.

She was suddenly aware that he was watching her, observing the play of embarrassed colour on her skin, before he added softly and cynically, ‘But with a rather different vocabulary, carissima.’

She said with deliberate coldness, ‘Do you have any other orders for me?’

He was unfazed. ‘If I think of any, I will let you know.’

‘How nice it must be,’ she said, ‘to always get your own way. Think about it.’ She ticked off on her fingers. ‘You need an heir—you have one ready-made. You require somewhere convenient to keep us—and you own a hotel with a vacant suite. You don’t wish to be married—and you find a wife who doesn’t want to be anywhere near you either. You’re ahead on all points.’

‘Am I, bella mia?’ His tone was cordial. ‘How interesting that you should think so. But perhaps you should refrain from mentioning my good fortune to Teresa and Ernesto. They might not agree with you.’

He paused. ‘One more thing before we go to meet them.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a small velvet box.

As he opened it, Polly drew an unsteady breath at the coruscating fire from the enormous diamond it contained.

‘Give me you hand.’ It was a command, not a request, but she still hesitated.

‘Surely—this isn’t necessary …’

‘On the contrary, it is essential,’ Sandro contradicted her. ‘So—per favore …’

Mutely, reluctantly, she allowed him to slide the ring onto her finger. A moment, she thought in anguish, that she’d imagined so many times during the summer of their love. But not like this. Never like this.

Her voice shook slightly. ‘It’s—beautiful.’

At the same time its dazzling brilliance seemed almost alien on her workaday hand, she thought, making her feel like some latter-day Cinderella.

But Sandro was no Prince Charming, she reminded herself soberly. And his diamond was altogether too magnificent a symbol of the cold, sterile bargain they had made with each other.

As if Sandro had read her thoughts, he said quietly, ‘You will soon accustom yourself to wearing it.’

She bent her head. ‘Along with everything else, it seems.’

‘There will be compensations,’ he told her. ‘Tomorrow I shall open a bank account for you.’

She shook her head almost violently. ‘I don’t want that.’

‘Dio mio.’ His voice was weary. ‘Paola, do you have to fight me each step of the way? Do you wish our child to be brought up in a battlefield?’

She looked away. ‘No, of course not.’

‘Then please try and accept the arrangements that must be made.’

‘I can—try,’ she said unsteadily. ‘But it’s not easy when your whole world has suddenly been—turned upside down.’

‘You think you are alone in that?’ There was a note of harsh derision in his voice. ‘I too am obliged to make—adjustments.’

‘But you don’t have to.’ She faced him with new determination, hands clenched at her sides. ‘I—I understand that you need to see Charlie, to spend time with him, and I swear I’ll co-operate in any way over this. But why tie yourself to an unwanted marriage when you could meet someone to love—someone who knows how to be a marchesa?’ She paused. ‘Someone the contessa might even approve of.’

‘You think that is an essential quality in my bride?’ His mouth twisted.

‘I think that, otherwise, there’ll be problems,’ Polly said flatly. ‘You must see that. After all, she runs your home—and she’ll see me as an interloper. A poor substitute for the girl she loved.’

‘Then she too will have to adjust.’ His voice hardened. ‘Believe this, Paola. My son will grow up in my home with the knowledge that his mother is my wife. Nothing else will do—either for him, or for the world at large.’

He walked to the door, and held it open. ‘Now begin to play your part. My friends expect to meet a girl happily reunited with her lover—so pretend,’ he added flatly. ‘Avanti.’

The serial killer was on the move, and the heroine was alone in her apartment, with a thunderstorm growling overhead. Any minute now she was going to run herself a bath or take a shower, Polly thought wearily, because that was what always happened.

I need, she thought, blanking out the television screen with one terse click of the remote control, to be distracted, not irritated.

She also wanted to relax—but her inner tensions were not so easily dispelled.

Besides, she could do without artificial horrors. Her mind was full enough already of disturbing sounds and images—bleached rock in the blazing sun, the squeal of tyres, the screech of brakes and wrenched metal. A girl screaming in fright, and then an even more terrifying silence, with Sandro lying unconscious and bleeding under a pitiless sky.

Perhaps this was why she was still up and restless, when common sense suggested she should be in bed, with Charlie fast asleep in his cot near by. She’d wondered if he would react badly to his new surroundings, but he’d settled with little more than a token protest.

Perhaps I should be more like him, Polly thought with a grimace. Learn to deal with six impossible things before breakfast.

However, liking Teresa and Ernesto had not proved impossible at all. She was tall, and slim as a wand, with long dark hair and laughing eyes. And although she was the epitome of chic, that did not stop her indulging in a rough-and-tumble on the floor with Charlie and the twins.

Ernesto was quieter, with a plain, kind face, observing his wife and children with doting fondness through his silver-rimmed glasses.

In other circumstances, Polly would have loved to have them as friends. As it was, she felt a total fraud. And sitting next to Sandro on one of the deeply cushioned sofas in their drawing room, with his arm draped casually round her shoulders, had proved unnervingly difficult.

Blissfully married herself, Teresa, left alone with Polly, had made it clear that she thought Sandro was glamorous and sexy beyond belief, in spite of his scarred face, and that she was assisting at the romance of the century.

And even if I told her that marrying Sandro was simply a rubber stamp on a legal arrangement I want no part of, Polly thought sadly, she wouldn’t believe me.

‘Ah, but shopping will be such fun, cara,’ Teresa had told her buoyantly. ‘Particularly as Alessandro has put no limit on our spending,’ she added with glee.

And although she must have been brimming with curiosity about Sandro and Polly’s former relationship, she nobly refrained from asking questions that her guest might find difficult to answer.

There had been only one awkward moment, when Teresa had been admiring Polly’s engagement ring. ‘A diamond?’ she exclaimed. ‘But I thought …’ She encountered a swift glance from Ernesto, and hastily went on, ‘I thought, as your bride has green eyes, you would have chosen an emerald for her. Or do you believe they are unlucky? Some people do, I think. And a diamond is forever, no?’

Sandro had smiled lazily. ‘Forever,’ he agreed.

But Polly found herself wondering what Teresa had meant to say.

‘So, was that such a hardship?’ he’d asked as their chauffeur-driven car took them back to the hotel, with Charlie bouncing between them.

‘No,’ she admitted. ‘They were lovely. I hate making fools of them like this.’

He gave her a dry look. ‘Do not underestimate Teresa, cara. She is a shrewd lady.’

Is she? Polly thought. Yet she clearly thinks Sandro and I will be having an intimate dinner for two in our suite, followed by a rapturous night in each other’s arms. How wrong can anyone be?

‘Then I’ll take care to be extra-careful,’ she said. She paused. ‘Why did she query my engagement ring being a diamond?’

‘You noticed,’ Sandro gave a shrug. ‘She would expect you to wear the Valessi ruby, which is traditionally passed to each bride.’

‘But not to me.’

‘No,’ he said, his mouth hardening. ‘It was found in the wreckage of the car. My father had it buried with Bianca.’

‘I see.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, that’s—understandable.’ She paused, desperate for a change of subject. ‘I—I wonder if the box containing my life has been delivered yet?’

He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That has made you angry,’ he said. ‘Which was not my intention. I thought I had simply relieved you of a tedious job.’

‘It would have been,’ she admitted. She forced a smile. ‘I’m just accustomed to my independence.’

‘Then it may please you to know that you will not be burdened with my presence at dinner tonight,’ he told her drily. ‘I am going out. Would you prefer to dine in the suite, or go down to the restaurant?’

‘I’ll stay in the suite. It will be better for Charlie.’

‘As you wish. I will arrange for Room Service to bring you a menu.’

Polly wondered where he was planning to spend the evening, but knew she could never ask. Because she did not have the right. This was the life she had agreed to for Charlie’s sake. A life of silences. No questions asked, or information volunteered. A life where to be blind and deaf might be a positive advantage.

‘I shall come to say goodnight to Carlino before I leave,’ he added. ‘If you permit, of course.’

‘I can hardly prevent you.’

‘You have a key to your room,’ he reminded her. ‘There could be a locked door between us.’

Yes, Polly had thought, her mouth drying. But would that really keep you out, if you wanted to come in?

Remembering that now, she got up with a shiver, and, walking over to the long glass doors which opened on to the balcony, she pushed them open and stepped out into the sultry night, tightening the sash on the towelling robe as she did so.

Her elderly, much-loved cotton dressing gown had not survived the Great Pack, so she’d had to use the one hanging on the bathroom door in its plastic cover. She missed her old robe badly. She’d had it for years—even taken it to Italy with her, when she worked for the travel company, and now it was gone. Like a symbol of her old life, she thought sadly.

But at least they’d brought Charlie’s blue blanket—and the brown teddy bear, both of them now adorning his cot. She would have to find something else to comfort herself with.

How peaceful everything looked in the moonlight, she thought, leaning on the stone balustrade. How normal. And how deceptive appearances could be.

She would not be welcome at Comadora, and she knew it. The contessa would be bound to resent her savagely, but at least she knew she had not imagined the older woman’s hostility to her.

It was probable that Bianca had confided her hurt over Sandro’s affair to her aunt. And now the contessa had to watch the hated mistress elevated to wife.

I’d hate me too, she thought soberly. But it’s still going to be a problem.

She turned restlessly to go back inside, and cannoned into Sandro, who had come, silent and completely unsuspected, to stand behind her.

She recoiled with a little cry, and immediately his hands gripped her arms to steady her.

‘Forgive me,’ he said quietly. ‘I did not mean to startle you.’

She freed herself, her heart thudding. ‘I—I didn’t expect to see you.’

His brows lifted. ‘You thought I would celebrate our fidanzamento by staying out all night,’ he asked ironically.

Polly lifted her chin. ‘Even if you did,’ she said, ‘it would be no concern of mine. Do whatever you want.’

‘You are giving me permission to stray, cara mia?’ Sandro drawled. ‘How enlightened of you, but totally unnecessary. Because I shall, indeed, do as I please.’ He paused. ‘I thought you would be in bed.’

‘I’m just going,’ she said hastily.

She wanted to escape. With his arrival, the night was suddenly too warm and the balcony too enclosed as if the balustrade and surrounding walls had shrunk inwards.

And Sandro was too close to her, almost but not quite touching. She felt a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts, and dug her nails into the palms of her hands.

‘Then before you do, perhaps you will allow me to steal another look at my son.’

‘Of course,’ Polly said, edging past him into the living room. ‘And he’s my son too,’ she added over her shoulder.

‘I have not forgotten,’ he said. ‘What were you doing out there, Paola? Gazing at the moon?’

‘Just—thinking.’ She paused, looking down at the floor. ‘Will—will the contessa be returning for the wedding?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘She will remain at the palazzo to make sure everything is ready for our arrival.’

‘And afterwards?’

He paused. ‘She will stay, at least until you are ready to take over the running of the household.’

‘Or even longer?’ She still did not look at him.

‘Perhaps.’ He sighed. ‘Paola, my father promised her a home. Out of respect for his memory, I cannot honourably deprive her of it, unless she wishes to go, no matter what has happened.’ He paused. ‘I hope you can accept that.’

‘It seems I shall have to.’ And more easily than she will ever accept me …

She turned and walked into her dimly lit bedroom. Sandro followed, and stood by the cot, an expression of such tenderness on his face that her heart turned over.

She thought, Once he looked at me like that, and winced at the wave of desolation that swept over her. Ridiculous reaction, she told herself fiercely. Unforgivable, too.

She went back to the door and waited, her arms hugged defensively round her body.

Sandro looked at her meditatively on his way past to the living room.

‘Yes?’ She felt suddenly nervous, and her voice was more challenging than she intended. ‘You have something to say?’

‘Our son,’ he said quietly. ‘How curious to think we should have made a child between us, when, now, you cannot even bear to stand next to me.’ His voice changed suddenly—became low, almost urgent. ‘How can this have happened, Paola mia? Why are you so scared to be alone with me? So frightened that I may touch you?’

‘I’m not scared,’ Polly began, but he cut across her.

‘Do not lie to me.’ There was a hard intensity in his tone. ‘You were a virgin when you came to me, yet, even then, you never held back. From that first moment, you were so warm—so willing in my arms that I thought my heart would burst with the joy of you.’

Oh, God, she thought wildly. Oh, dear God …

She could feel the slow burn of heat rising within her at his words, at the memories they engendered, and had to fight to keep her voice deliberately cool and clear.

‘But that,’ she said, ‘was when I was in love with you. It—makes—quite a difference.’

Her words seemed to drop like stones into the sudden well of silence between them. The air seemed full of a terrible stillness that reached out into a bleak eternity.

Polly felt her body quiver with tension. She had provided the lightning flash, and now she was waiting for the anger of the storm to break.

But when he spoke, his voice was calm. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You are right. It—changes everything. I am obliged to you for the reminder. Grazie and goodnight.’

She was aware of him moving, turning away. Then, a moment later, she heard his own door open and close, and knew she was alone. And safe again.

Her held breath escaped her on a long, trembling sigh.

She’d had a lucky escape and she knew it. Now all she had to deal with was the deep ache of traitorous longing that throbbed inside her.

But she could cope, she told herself, shivering. She had things to do. Clothes to buy. Italian lessons to learn. Long days with Charlie to enjoy for the first time since he was a baby.

So much to keep her busy and banish all those long-forbidden thoughts, and desires. And, for her own sake, she should make a start at once. Telephone Teresa in the morning. Make a list of all the books she’d not had time to read. She could even have parcels of them, she thought, sent to her in Italy. She might even book for a theatre matinée, now that she had a nanny. Go to the cinema. Something. Anything.

While, at the same time, she underwent the painful process of turning herself into some stranger—the Marchesa Valessi. The wife that no one wanted—least of all Sandro himself.