Читать книгу Sara Craven Tribute Collection - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 18

WHEN Clare woke, her watch, that she’d removed the previous night, told her it was morning.

She slid awkwardly off the bed, and managed to make her way to the door, turning her back to knock at its panels.

As she’d hoped, Marco appeared, looking no happier than he had the night before.

‘Buongiorno.’ Clare smiled calmly at him. ‘I’d like the bathroom, and then some coffee.’

He hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Clare heard him go downstairs. Scooping her toilet things back into their bag, she opened the door and peeped out.

The passage was empty, and she was sorely tempted to make a dash for it. Except, she reminded herself, that she hadn’t a clue where ‘it’ might be.

A familiar sound was coming from a room across the passage, and she trod softly across and pushed open the door, wrinkling her nose at the smell of grappa which assaulted her. Fabio was sprawled across the bed, an empty bottle on the floor beside him, snoring loudly.

Out for the count, she thought. And the perfect opportunity to work on Marco.

The shutters were open, and she tiptoed across and looked out of the window. As she’d feared, all she could see were fields and trees.

The house, which she was certain belonged to Marco’s mother, was in total isolation.

But directly below her was Fabio’s car, looking rustier than ever in the sunlight.

If I could just get the keys, she thought. We can’t be that far from a main road.

Fabio snorted, and turned on to his side. She crept back to the bathroom, closing the door quietly just as Marco came upstairs with her coffee. In addition, there was a plate, with a slice of ham, a piece of cheese, and a sad-looking peach.

‘Thank you.’ She sent him another smile. ‘How well you look after me. Your mother must be proud of you.’ She glanced round her. ‘How beautifully she keeps her house.’

‘Grazie, signorina.’ He looked faintly gratified.

‘And what a shame she won’t be able to stay here,’ Clare went on, watching him from under her lashes as she sipped her coffee.

His brow creased. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she won’t be able to look after her house when she’s in jail.’

‘Jail?’ He gave her a stony look. ‘My mother will not go to jail. And nor will I. There are many places I can hide—even from Bartaldi.’

‘But you’ve kept me in her house, which will make her an accomplice. At least that’s how the police will see it.’

‘But you know differently, signorina. You will speak for her. She is not young, and she has been sick.’

‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you let Fabio involve you in his get-rich schemes,’ Clare said contemptuously. She leaned forward, fixing his gaze with hers. She said urgently, ‘There is only one person who can speak for you—get you off the hook—and that’s the Marchese. And why should he? You betrayed his trust, and now you’ve stolen from him. You can run, Marco, but he’ll hunt you down. And your mother will suffer too.’

‘No, that cannot be. Fabio said nothing…’

‘Well, why should he? It won’t be his mother who’ll be arrested. And I’m sure he isn’t as caring a son as you, anyway.’ Clare shook her head. ‘There’s no help for it, I’m afraid. When the police trace you to this house, as they will, my fingerprints will be everywhere. And your mother will be involved, up to her neck.’

Marco looked as if he was going to burst into tears. ‘I cannot let this happen. What can I do, signorina?’

‘We-ell.’ Clare hesitated, then plunged recklessly. ‘You could always let me go.’

‘Let you go?’ He laughed hoarsely. ‘To bring the police down on me and put me in jail? I am not a fool.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be that way,’ Clare said intensely. ‘Listen to me, Marco. If you help me get away, I’ll tell the Marchese exactly what you did. How kind you’ve been. How you looked after me. What’s more, I’ll remind him how long your family have worked for him. I’ll even ask for your job back. And there might be a reward,’ she added, mentally crossing her fingers.

‘He’s a good man—a fair man,’ she went on quickly. ‘He’ll forgive you—take you back—if I ask him. If you help me now. And you’ll have saved yourself and your mother.’

There was a long silence. Then, ‘But how do I know he will do these things?’

Clare lifted her chin. ‘Because you have my promise,’ she said. ‘Because, as Fabio said, I am Bartaldi’s woman.’

There was another tense silence. She saw him swallow. Then, ‘What do I have to do?’

She couldn’t let him see how relieved she was. Instead she tried to sound brisk and matter-of-fact. ‘I’m going to need the car. Does Fabio have the keys?’

He nodded. ‘He might wake…’

‘Only if there’s a missile attack.’

‘But I am not staying here. I am coming with you, signorina. When he does wake, he will be like a crazy man, and I do not want to be here.’

She couldn’t blame him, but she needed him like a hole in the head. She supposed he wanted to be sure she would keep her word.

She nodded. ‘Whatever you say, Marco. Get the keys and my bag, and we’re out of here.’

She watched him go into the room where Fabio was still snoring. After a minute, he reappeared. ‘Signorina— I cannot find them. I am afraid to search his pockets.’

Clare bit down on her impatience. ‘Don’t worry, Marco. I’ll look myself.’

There was nothing in his pockets, Clare discovered, rigid with distaste. Then, as he turned his head restlessly, cursing and grumbling obscenities in his sleep, she heard a faint chink of metal and found the car keys under his pillow.

‘Avanti,’ she said quietly. ‘I think he’s coming out of it.’

She waited in agony as Marco, who insisted on driving, fumbled with the ignition and clashed the gears. As they moved off, bouncing down the dusty track, she thought she heard a shout from behind them, and saw that Marco had registered it too, that he was looking in the mirror and braking.

She said urgently, ‘Keep going. I told you I’d look after you, and I will. But if you let me down, I’ll throw you to the wolves.’

He sent her a miserable look, his forehead beaded with sweat, then obediently put his foot on the gas.

The track bordered fields of sunflowers for nearly a mile. The road, when they found it, was not much better, carving its way through scattered woodland and scrub. But Marco insisted they were going in the right direction.

Clare sat forward suddenly with a gasp. ‘Oh, God. The Minerva. I—I forgot about it. Fabio still has it.’

‘No, signorina. It is still in the boot of this car. Last night he wished only to celebrate—to get drunk—so he left it there.’

They were coming to a junction. Clare said cheerfully, ‘Oh, dear. It just isn’t his day…’ And stopped with a gasp as a police car swung off the major road towards them, effectively blocking their passage.

‘Dio.’ Under his tan, Marco was as white as a sheet, as a second police vehicle followed. ‘They are coming for me.’

‘It’s all right,’ Clare soothed. ‘Stop the car, and leave all the talking to me.’

But, with a sob of fright, he pulled the wheel over and swung the car off the road into the trees.

‘Marco, this is crazy.’ Clare tried to speak calmly. ‘You can’t drive in this. Now stop the car, and everything will be…’ The words choked in her throat as Marco misjudged the distance between two trees and the offside crumpled on impact with a scream of grinding metal.

Clare was thrown forward, but her seat belt held. Marco, who wasn’t wearing his belt, hit himself on the steering wheel and sat back, blood pouring from his nose and a cut on his head.

‘Here.’ She grabbed a handful of tissues from her bag, and held them to his face as the police surrounded the car.

She thought hysterically, This can’t be happening. It’s like some ghastly action replay…

Her door was dragged open. She was aware of faces staring in at her. A babel of voices. Someone was asking her if she could move. She unfastened her seat belt and got out, steadying herself on the side of the car as the ground suddenly dipped and swayed.

Then the crowd around her were falling back, making way, and she saw Guido striding towards her, eyes blazing, face grim.

‘You are hurt?’ he demanded as he reached her, and curtly, over his shoulder, ‘an ambulance—at once.’

She realised there was blood on her hands, and on the linen jacket, and tried to laugh feebly. ‘Guido—it’s not mine. It’s poor Marco’s…’

She got no further. He was looking past her to where Marco had just been pulled from the car, and there was an expression on his face Clare had never seen before—bleak—almost murderous.

He reached him in three strides, lifting the younger man as if he’d been a rag doll. Shaking him, his hands gripping his throat.

Clare moved then, pushing her way through, throwing herself at Guido, trying to drag him away.

‘Don’t—please don’t hurt him. He helped me. I promised I’d make it all right for him.’ She pummelled him with her fists. ‘Guido—darling—let him go.’

‘Are you mad?’ His voice was hoarse. ‘He collaborated with that piece of vermin. Why should I spare him?’

‘Because he’s your man.’ There were tears running down her face. ‘Because his father worked for you—and his grandfather before that. Because it’s your land—your estate—and you are Bartaldi.’

Slowly Guido released his grip, and Marco slid to the ground at his feet, crimson-faced and choking.

‘Yes, he’s been a fool, and worse than a fool,’ she went on quickly. ‘But he’s sorry, and I would never have got away without him. I gave my word that I’d look after him. That I wouldn’t let him be arrested.’

‘And what gives you the right to make such a dangerous promise?’ His tone lashed her.

She looked up at him, longing to kiss the rigidity from his mouth. To smooth away the lines of strain from his dark face.

She said quietly, and very simply, ‘Because I’m Bartaldi’s woman. Now take me home—please.’

The silence was electric as he looked into her eyes, then he took her hand and raised it to his lips, before turning to the nearest policeman. ‘Take the lady to my car, if you please, while I see what is to be done here.’

By the time he joined her reaction had set in, and she was shaking like a leaf. He gave her a frowning glance. ‘I should take you to the hospital.’

‘I hate hospitals,’ she said. ‘And I’ll be fine.’ She paused. ‘Guido, you won’t let them put poor Marco in jail, will you? His mother’s sick, and he is one of your people…’

‘You’ve made out your case, mia cara.’ There was an odd note in his voice. ‘I can refuse you nothing.’

She leaned back, closing her eyes, as the car moved smoothly forward. Well, the die was cast now. She’d offered herself, and he would take her. She supposed dully that he would buy her somewhere to live—an apartment in Rome, perhaps—and he would visit her there when he was able. She wasn’t altogether sure how these arrangements worked.

But she did know that she could only ever occupy a small, separate part of his life, and she would have to make it enough.

She said, ‘How did you know where to find me?’

‘Ever since you told Tonio about “Marco’s cousin” we have had Fabio watched. We thought Paola would be most in danger. I never once thought he would dare to touch you.

‘When you disappeared last night, I thought at first that you had simply—left me. Then we found Violetta’s car keys near the campanile, and realised the Minerva had gone too, and a sighting of Fabio’s vehicle was reported.’ He spoke quietly, without emotion. ‘Marco was merely going to be picked up for interrogation.’

He paused. ‘I hope you did not make any rash promises about helping Fabio to evade justice?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I hope they lock him up for ever.’

Then she remembered something completely different, and sat up. ‘Guido—I should have told you—the Minerva—she’s in the boot of that car.’

‘Someone will find her and return her.’

‘How can you be so casual about it?’ Clare demanded indignantly. ‘She’s your greatest treasure.’

He said softly, ‘Not any longer.’ And, for one brief, tingling moment, his hand rested on her knee.

Everyone was clustered on the steps at the villa to witness their return.

Guido opened the passenger door and helped her out. Then, before she could move or protest, he picked her up in his arms and carried her up the steps.

In the sea of faces, the one she saw was Paola’s, eyes wide with shock and lips parted. And it brought her to her reeling senses.

‘Guido—put me down,’ she whispered. ‘Are you crazy? What will people think?’

‘What they wish, as usual,’ he retorted without slackening his grasp, as he walked towards the stairs.

He carried her into her bedroom and put her gently down on the bed, then turned, beckoning to the housekeeper who had followed them, giving swift instructions that Clare barely heard.

A bath, deep and scented, was run for her, and Benedetta and Filumena were helping her to undress. She sank down into the water, boneless and weightless, and emerged to be wrapped in a warm bath sheet. Filumena dried her hair into a shining curtain, and Benedetta applied some sweet-smelling herbal ointment to the bump on her head.

The bed had been turned down, and there was even a nightgown waiting for her, one she’d never seen before, in ivory satin, with narrow straps and a deep plunge of a bodice made almost entirely of guipure lace. One side of the skirt was slashed almost to the thigh, and edged in the same lace.

She was suddenly aware of how deferentially they were treating her. And how their eyes slid away when she looked at them.

But what did she expect? By carrying her up the stairs like that Guido had put his mark on her. Virtually announced his intentions to the world.

She bit her lip. She could only imagine what Paola must be feeling, she thought with remorse.

The shutters were closed, reducing the room to discreet shadow, then Benedetta and Filumena withdrew with polite murmurs, and Clare was alone.

Or so she thought. But almost immediately the door opened, and Guido came in.

He had changed too, she saw, into slim-fitting black pants, that hugged his lean hips, and a black silk shirt. His face was serious, and a little remote.

‘How do you feel?’ He stood at the side of the bed and looked down at her.

‘Much—better.’ She hesitated, her eyes grave and a little disappointed. She’d expected him to behave with more finesse. ‘You don’t waste much time, signore..’

‘Because I don’t have much time to waste.’ He paused in turn. ‘Do you like the gown?’

‘It’s exquisite,’ Clare returned with some of her old spark. ‘Do you have a store of them—to meet all eventualities?’

‘No.’ He smiled at her. ‘You have a lot to learn about me, mia bella.’

Her fingers plucked at the embroidered edge of the sheet. Her mouth felt suddenly dry. ‘And is this going to be the first lesson?’ Excitement warred with shyness inside her.

‘That must wait a little, I think. Because we have to talk.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed, and handed her a flat velvet case. ‘I came to bring you this.’

It was a single diamond—a teardrop of fire on a slender gold chain.

‘I searched for a flawless stone,’ he went on. ‘There is other jewellery, of course, some of it very old. But I wanted to give you something for yourself alone—something no one else had worn.’

She swallowed. ‘It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But you don’t have to do this, Guido. I—I don’t need jewellery or expensive presents. That’s not it at all.’

‘Then you will have to steel yourself, beloved. The Marchesa Bartaldi is expected to wear the family jewels on grand occasions.’

She said woodenly, ‘I’m sure Paola will look lovely. And don’t you think you should be with her now?’

Guido fastened the pendant round her neck, adjusting the diamond so that it glittered in the valley between her lace-veiled breasts.

‘The perfect setting,’ he said softly. ‘And is my company so undesirable, mia cara, that you wish to be rid of me?’

‘No,’ she said almost desperately. ‘It’s just that I want us to do the right thing—even though I know we’re doing the wrong one. But I want us to do it as well as possible. And you’re laughing at me.’

‘Because you’re talking nonsense.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Chiara—can you be the only person in the world who does not know I have come here to ask you to be my wife?’

She stared at him, her heart pounding suddenly, her lips parting on a soundless gasp. When she could speak, she said huskily, ‘This is some joke. It—must be…’

‘I have never been more serious.’ He tapped his wristwatch. ‘And I would like an answer, carissima. Every soul in the place is hanging on your word.’

‘But you’re going to marry Paola,’ she protested wildly. ‘She’s in love with you. She told me so.’

‘Then that will come as news to Tonio, to whom she’s been engaged for the past forty-eight hours.’

‘And you don’t mind?’ Her mind was reeling.

‘It was what I always intended,’ he said with a shrug. ‘He has loved her for years, God help him. All that was needed was for Paola to stop falling for unsuitable men and realise she could only be happy with Tonio. Which she’s now done.’ He frowned swiftly. ‘I thought she had told you.’

‘She said something,’ she returned numbly. ‘But I didn’t understand.’ She shook her head. ‘But why did you bring me here? You said you wanted me to make her into a willing wife for you…’

‘No, my love. You were the one I always meant to have. And it was yourself that you had to coax into submission. Into acceptance of your fate. There were times when I thought it would never happen,’ he added with feeling.

‘Guido.’ Her voice shook. ‘You—devil.’ She paused. ‘But what about Paola’s money? She said you didn’t want it to go out of the company.’

‘Paola has no money, mia cara, apart from the settlement I shall make on her when she marries. Her father gambled away everything he had. That was why my father took her into our home—because he felt that he should have stopped him years before.’

‘And Tonio knows this?’

‘Naturalamente.’

‘Then why did you pretend that you were going to marry Paola?’

‘To keep the undesirables away,’ he returned promptly. ‘Fabio was not the first, you understand. And she had to be protected while she learned the truth of her own feelings.’ He smiled at her very tenderly. ‘As you had to be, also, my stubborn darling. You were always so sure I wanted you to be my mistress. Whereas I simply wanted you.’

He paused. ‘I am not a boy, Chiara, and you are not the first woman in my life. But you will be the last. And I know I am not the first man for you. Violetta has told me something of this James. Is there anything you wish to tell me too?’

‘He’s not important,’ she said. ‘He’s been history for a long time. Only I thought you were like him—marrying for purely mercenary reasons. And it made me angry.’

‘We have both had moments of doubt,’ he said quietly. ‘When I saw you on the station at Barezzo that day, I thought, Here she is at last. And then, when it seemed that you were Fabio’s accomplice, I was angry too, and sick with disappointment.’

‘You looked as if you wanted to kill me. When I saw you go for Marco today, I realised I’d had a lucky escape.’

‘You’ve escaped nothing, carissima. Not unless you decide you don’t want to marry me after all. That you don’t love me.’

‘I’ve loved you from the first, too,’ she said. ‘But I told myself I had to fight it.’ She drew a breath. ‘But there is something I have to know, Guido. The truth abut your lady in Siena.’

He was silent for a long moment. ‘Her name is Bianca,’ he said at last. ‘And I knew her first about ten years ago. Yes, we were lovers—then. But we went our separate ways, and I did not meet her again until two years ago, when a mutual friend told me she was back in Siena, and very ill. And that she needed help.’

His mouth twisted. ‘When I went to see her I found that she had contracted multiple sclerosis, and that it had advanced rapidly. She was married when her illness was diagnosed. Her husband could not take the idea of her disability, and walked out on her.

‘I found her an apartment, and arranged for full-time care. The doctors tell me it will not be needed for very much longer. And I go to see her, and we laugh, and talk of old times, and I make sure that I treat her like the lively, beautiful girl I remember. Lately, I have told her about you,’ he added quietly. ‘And she has begged to meet you.’

‘Oh, Guido.’ Clare swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry. And of course I’ll come with you.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve judged you so harshly. I don’t understand how you can still want me.’

His smile teased her. ‘But you know that I do.’

‘Yes,’ she said softly, her eyes luminous. ‘I know.’

He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, his mouth caressing hers with sensuous pleasure. And Clare, her arms round his neck, kissed him back, revelling in her freedom to do so. A freedom all the more precious for having been painfully bought.

And between kisses they murmured to each other, and laughed a little, and touched each other in delicate exploration.

At some point she found that Guido was now lying beside her, his silk shirt discarded, and that the straps of her nightgown had mysteriously slipped down, freeing her breasts from their little lace cups, and that he was stroking her excited nipples with the tip of a finger.

‘You know how wrong this is, mia bella,’ he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. ‘Your godmother would be shocked. My uncle would be scandalised. I am supposed to wait patiently for our wedding night before I do this.’ He bent and kissed each scented peak. ‘Or this,’ he added, his hand sliding under the slash of her skirt to find her moist silken core.

‘Must we?’ The breath caught in her throat as she arched against his caressing hand in mute demand. ‘Wait, I mean?’

‘I think we must.’ His hand moved, subtly, wickedly, bringing a small moan from her throat. ‘At least until I have locked the door and taken off the rest of my clothes.’ He paused as his fingertips moved in devastating friction against her tiny centre of sensation. ‘Or after—this.’

She came almost at once, her body pulsating in an eager delight that was close to pain, and he held her close, and kissed her mouth, and her tearful eyes, and murmured how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her.

And then he locked the door, and took off the rest of his clothes and her nightgown, and made slow, sensuous love to her, using his mouth and hands in ways she’d never dreamed of, enjoying her body in rapt completeness and teaching her to enjoy his.

‘Tonight,’ he said, when they were lying dreamily sated in each other’s arms, ‘I shall look at you at dinner and smile, and you will know what I am remembering. You—naked except for my diamond pendant.’

‘This making it impossible for me to eat or drink anything.’ Clare let her hand roam lazily. ‘Anyway, I have my own memories, signore.’ She looked at him from under her lashes. ‘I suppose we shall have to remain celibate now until the ceremony.’

‘I think we may also have to do penance,’ he said ruefully. ‘And apologise to all our well-wishers downstairs. I think my uncle and your godmother may be angry with us—unless they are too involved with each other to care.’

‘Are they really fond of each other? That’s wonderful.’ She frowned a little. ‘But Violetta has always vowed she would never get married again.’

‘I think Cesare has other ideas. He will win her round. He saw at once that I loved you.’

‘How clever of him.’

‘We are a clever family, carissima’ He turned her face to his and kissed her lingeringly. ‘I think we should be married as soon as it can be arranged. Perhaps we had better not wait for the chapel to be finished.’

She smiled, pillowing her head on his chest. ‘Are you in such a hurry, Marchese? I rather like being Bartaldi’s woman.’

‘You will find,’ he said softly, ‘that being Bartaldi’s bride will be infinitely more rewarding.’

And as she walked down the aisle to Guido, waiting for her at the altar just a few brief weeks later, Clare saw the love in his face, and the pride, and the reverence. And she knew, joyously, that he was right.