Читать книгу The Forced Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 5

EVEN now, three years later, Emily could remember every detail of that short journey. Could recall the brush of the stair carpet under her bare feet, the way the shadows had seemed to distort even the most familiar objects and the soft creaking and groaning as the old house settled for the night.

With every step she’d expected lights to blaze on and her father’s voice demanding to know what she was doing.

She supposed she’d have to say that she couldn’t sleep and was going to the kitchen to heat some milk. He’d believe her, because she’d never given him cause to do otherwise. Or not until now, she’d thought, her throat closing.

More than once she’d been tempted to turn back. To take refuge in her room and find some excuse that would placate Simon for her failure to show.

But I love him, she’d reminded herself almost feverishly. I should be wanting to make him happy, not pacify him.

When she was in his arms, she would feel differently. She was sure of it. Convinced that this little knot of coldness in the pit of her stomach would dissolve into something altogether warmer and more receptive.

And yet…

She’d have been lying to herself if she hadn’t hoped that her first time with Simon would have been more meaningful in some way. More romantic than these hasty and covert moments ahead of her.

Although, as she’d gathered from the conversation of her more sophisticated school friends, usually the first time was no big deal. Merely something that needed to be got out of the way, so that more pleasurable experiences could follow.

There was also the vexed question of birth control. Emily reckoned uneasily that she was the only girl in the sixth form not to be on the pill. But would Simon have guessed this and made his own arrangements, or would she have to pretend everything was all right—and risk the consequences?

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Her father would be angry and disappointed with her, of course, but as she and Simon were planning to be married anyway, would it really be so awful if the wedding date had to be moved forward because she was pregnant?

Well, the short answer to that was yes. Because it was the last thing she wanted to happen.

The situation would be much easier to handle if Simon’s career wasn’t currently on hold, she thought forlornly. How could he cope with a wife and baby without a regular salary or a home of his own?

Her father might offer him something, she supposed, but she wouldn’t count on it. Not if he had Simon foisted on him as a son-in-law before they’d even had a chance to become properly acquainted, let alone friends.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the conservatory and slipped inside like a small, quiet ghost.

It was one of her favourite places in the house, its warmth like a blanket, enveloping her in comfort. She stood still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing the raw earthy smells and listening to the familiar muted hum of the heating system.

There was no other sound. No movement either. And Emily realised with something very like relief that Simon wasn’t there.

But perhaps she should allow him a few minutes’ grace, she thought reluctantly. After all, she couldn’t go to bed leaving the outside door unsecured, yet she certainly didn’t want him arriving late either, rattling at the lock and wakening the entire household in a frustrated attempt to gain access.

Oh God, I should never—never—have agreed to any of this, she groaned inwardly, sinking down on a bench next to the miniature palms and peering at the face of her watch in the gloom. I’m not the stuff conspirators are made of.

She sat tensely, hands clasped in her lap, willing the moments to pass more quickly.

When she saw Simon next, she would pretend it had never happened, she told herself. She’d tell him her father had been on the prowl, and she hadn’t dared leave her room. Hope that he hadn’t had a wasted journey.

She was just getting to her feet when she realised that the door to the garden was opening silently to admit the dark figure of a man.

For a brief second she froze in the realisation that it was too late to slip away.

This is Simon, she reminded herself urgently. This is the man you love and want. And it’s time to commit yourself to that love, once and for always.

She drew a breath, then went to him, running, flinging herself into the arms that instantly closed about her as she lifted her face for his kiss.

But, instead of the passionate demand she’d expected, he was almost restrained, keeping his ardour well in check, and Emily was grateful for it.

Eyes shut, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the cool, gentle brush of his lips against hers, his exploration of the soft contours of her mouth as if this was strange, uncharted territory to him.

As if…

And in that same moment, she knew with total clarity that this was wrong—all wrong. That the hard male body she’d pressed herself against so ardently was taller, leaner than Simon’s, and altogether more muscular. That she was not being held and kissed as Simon held and kissed her. And that this man even smelled differently, Simon’s familiar brand of aftershave having been replaced by something infinitely more subtle and expensive.

But only too recognisable, just the same…

Oh, God, she whimpered in silent horror, as realisation dawned. Oh, God, it’s—him.

Gasping, she tore her lips from his and pushed at him violently.

‘Let go of me.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Let go of me at once, damn you.’

‘You mean this entrancing welcome is not intended for me, after all?’ Rafaele Di Salis asked mockingly. ‘I am desolate.’

But he relaxed his clasp sufficiently for Emily to take an uneven step backwards, out of range. At the same time, he clicked the switch by the door and the overhead light went on, catching her in the act of scrubbing violently at her mouth with her hand in an attempt to remove any lingering traces of his kiss.

To cover her confusion, Emily went into attack mode. ‘What do you think you’re doing—creeping into the place like a burglar?’

His brows lifted sardonically. ‘Are you saying that you mistook me for a thief—and not Simon Aubrey?’

‘Simon,’ she said curtly, ‘need not concern you.’

‘Ah, but he does, Emilia. Because I fear that he will not be able to keep his appointment with you tonight, after all.’

She stiffened. ‘He told—you that?’

‘No.’ Rafaele Di Salis shrugged. ‘I told him so, when I encountered him in the garden a short while ago.’

She gasped. ‘You were spying on us?’

‘I had just returned from driving Signorina Aubrey home and heard him crashing through the shrubbery as I walked back to the house. He is fortunate there are no dogs on the premises, or he would have woken the whole household—including your father.’ He allowed a significant pause. ‘I persuaded him that his visit was—inappropriate and he left.’

She said chokingly, ‘And what gives you the right to interfere in my affairs?’

‘You mean there have been others?’ He tutted. ‘And I would have sworn that Simon Aubrey was the first.’ He glanced round. ‘And I must tell you, cara, that this is hardly the most comfortable setting for so momentous an event as losing your virginity.’

For a long moment Emily was incapable of speech, aware that every inch of her skin was burning with embarrassment.

At last she said hoarsely, ‘You are—disgusting.’

He laughed. ‘No, merely practical. Besides, your would-be lover seemed in no mood for a tender seduction when I met him just now. Frankly, he appeared ill-tempered. And, when I arrived at his uncle’s house earlier, it was clear there had been a family disagreement of some magnitude in which he was involved.’

‘That is none of your business!’

‘I agree,’ Rafaele told her cordially. ‘Which is why I made an excuse and left at once, without the coffee I had been promised.’

She glared at him. ‘Or anything else, presumably. Is that why you decided to ruin my time with Simon, signore—because you’d missed out with Jilly?’

He said gently, ‘That, mia cara, is a vulgarity not worthy of you.’ He paused. ‘I look on your father as my friend, Emilia, and I would try to prevent anything that would distress him. And the discovery that you had agreed to a secret liaison under his own roof would be a serious blow to him. You must know that. Your young man should have more regard for your honour.’

Emily flung back her head. ‘It so happens, signore, that Simon and I are engaged to be married. We were meeting tonight to—to discuss our plans for the future, and not for the sordid reason you imagine.’

His stride towards her was so quick and purposeful that she didn’t have a chance to step backwards. And, before she could defend herself, his hand had snaked out and pulled down the zip on her robe almost to the waist. The edges fell apart, revealing to his gaze the flimsy black triangles that barely concealed her nipples.

He said contemptuously, ‘It seems I am not the only one with a sordid imagination, signorina. Let me tell you that you are too young and far too lovely to require such tawdry adornment. You disappoint me.’

‘How dare you?’ Her voice was a strangled croak as she struggled to cover herself again, her fingers made clumsy by haste and shame. ‘Oh, God, how dare you—touch me? Insult me? You call yourself Daddy’s friend? He’ll throw you out of the house when I tell him…’

‘When you tell him—precisely what?’ Rafaele Di Salis cut impatiently across her stumbling words. ‘What you were doing here? Why you were dressed as you are?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Emilia, I recommend that you hold your peace about tonight, as I shall. Now, go to your room,’ he added almost wearily. ‘And I will lock up here.’

She did not wait to argue, but fled. In the quiet of her room, she threw herself across the bed, burying her face in the covers, as shock and misery overwhelmed her.

I want to die, she told herself passionately, a sob rising in her throat. Just to die. Because then I’ll never have to see Rafaele Di Salis again.

But, for the time being, she had to go on living—enduring the terrible memory of his condemnatory gaze and the harsh dismissal of his words.

And, somewhere among all of that, was the realisation that Simon had tamely given up and gone home, which, she discovered wretchedly, didn’t seem nearly as bad.

She spent a miserable and restless night, with the covers pulled over her head, and it was a pale, hollow-eyed Emily who went reluctantly down to breakfast the next morning to confront her tormentor the best she could. She’d rehearsed a number of dignified and cutting speeches in case he should make some ill-chosen reference to the night’s events, but they proved unnecessary.

Because he wasn’t there, and when she forced herself to ask her father about their guest’s non-appearance, she was breezily informed that Rafaele Di Salis had left first thing that morning to catch a flight to New York.

‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’ She managed to pour her coffee with a reasonably steady hand.

Sir Travers looked surprised. ‘No, my dear. Raf always planned to leave immediately after Boxing Day. Didn’t I mention that?’

‘Actually, no,’ said Emily.

‘Well, he’s gone, anyway.’ Her father paused, then smiled. ‘And he asked me to pass on his good wishes for your future happiness.’

‘How kind,’ Emily said woodenly, and applied herself to her scrambled eggs.

Strange, Emily thought, shifting uneasily in the big chair, that even after the passage of three years, she should have this—instant recall, as if it had all happened yesterday. But maybe unpleasant memories stayed longer in the mind than the cheerful variety.

Not that there’d ever been any really joyous moments to glean from any part of her strange relationship with Raf Di Salis.

The celebration would come when he signed the papers to set her free. And allow her, at last, to marry her first love and put all the pain of separation and misunderstanding behind them.

Her mouth tightened as she remembered how, in the aftermath of that disastrous night, she’d waited in mounting desperation to hear from Simon. But forty-eight endless hours had passed without a word and, as the time lengthened, her pride would not allow her to contact him and demand to know what the hell was going on.

She’d been in the village, parking her bicycle outside the general stores, when Jilly Aubrey had emerged.

‘Well, hi,’ she drawled, giving Emily the usual disparaging once-over. ‘Where’s that gorgeous Italian who was staying with you? I want to invite him to our New Year bash, if he’s going to be around.’

Emily gave her a cool look. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back for New Year, or any other time.’ If my prayers are answered…

Jilly shrugged. ‘Don’t sound so pleased, honey, because you’re in the same boat. Simon’s staying on in London, according to Mother.’

‘London,’ Emily repeated before she could stop herself.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Jilly’s eyes glinted with malice. She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Dad found out over Christmas that he’d been borrowing money from Ma again, and there was a massive explosion, chez nous. Fall-out everywhere, my dear. So pretty Cousin Simon’s been sent off to seek his fortune, or find a job that will enable him to pay a few of his debts, anyway. If such a thing exists,’ she added with a faint sneer. ‘Whatever, he won’t be allowed back until he’s gainfully employed, so I’d look around for another boyfriend if I were you.’

‘But I’m not you,’ Emily said quietly. ‘I believe in Simon and I’m prepared to wait.’

The other girl shrugged again. ‘More fool you,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’ And she walked down the street to her car and drove away.

Simon could have told me, Emily thought forlornly as she queued for her stamps at the post office counter. In fact, he should have told me.

And we didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye because of that bloody Rafaele Di Salis.

Even the slightest mention of his name seemed to have the power to make her burn with rage and humiliation, although she’d done her damnedest to put him out of her mind.

But she was still haunted by the way he’d looked at her that awful night, and it was galling beyond belief that he should be the first man to see her even semi-naked.

One of her first acts after his departure had been to wrap that horrible underwear in newspaper and add it to the incinerator in the garden where the last of the dead leaves were burning.

Gone, she’d told herself. Over and done with. Only, somehow, it didn’t seem to be that simple, and she didn’t know why.

She tried to give her thoughts a more positive turn as she cycled back to the house, telling herself that it was a good thing that Simon was looking for work—the first step towards the future they were planning. Although it didn’t mean, of course, that her father would fall over himself to give them his blessing. But it was a start.

And as for Jilly’s remarks—well, Emily decided, she shouldn’t give them credence. Simon’s cousin had been spiteful over their relationship from the start. And her disappointment over Raf Di Salis hadn’t sweetened her disposition either.

Over dinner that evening, she said, ‘We aren’t having visitors for New Year, by any chance, are we?’

‘No one. Why, is there someone you wish to invite?’ her father asked.

‘No,’ Emily said too vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I was just—checking, that’s all.’

Sir Travers examined the wine in his glass. ‘Did you hope, perhaps, that Rafaele might be joining us?’

‘On the contrary,’ Emily denied quickly.

He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Why do you dislike him?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’ Her tone was defensive.

‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer it if you were friends.’ There was a quiet, almost stern note in his voice that Emily knew of old. ‘I expect him to be a regular guest here, and as his hostess, my dear, you will make him welcome.’

Emily’s heart sank, but she managed a neutral, ‘Yes, of course.’

At the same, she surreptitiously crossed her fingers that there would be no return visit from the Count until she was safely back at school.

And it seemed her luck was in, because Raf Di Salis continued to stay away and Emily found the latter part of her holiday truly enjoyable, in spite of Simon’s absence.

She was packing to return to school when she eventually heard from him. Simon was back at High Gables just to collect his things, having found work with an import/export company in the City.

Over a snatched lunch at the village pub, Simon explained that, although he was starting at the lowest level, the job could be a stepping stone to real money.

‘And I could travel,’ he told her exultantly. ‘The company has branches all over the world.’ He paused, then put his hand over hers. ‘And in a few months I’ll be earning enough to come back for you.’

Emily smiled and tried to be thrilled for him, but there was a bleakness in her heart that she could not explain. It occurred to her that his words had a hint of afterthought about them. That maybe if he hadn’t had belongings to collect from his uncle’s house, she might not have heard from him at all.

Also, there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them not to mention the Boxing Night party, and although she was prepared to accept this, she still felt she deserved an explanation, if not an apology.

After all, Simon must know that he wasn’t the only one to suffer the embarrassment of an encounter with Raf Di Salis that night. Wasn’t he even curious?

But she swiftly told herself she was being unfair. His life was undergoing some sweeping changes, and part of the reason he was undertaking them was for her.

She watched him drive away, clinging to his promise to call her every weekend.

He will come back to me, she whispered to herself, as she waved to him. He will come back. I—I know it.

But clearly not immediately, because he was far too busy. And gradually the phone calls crammed with news of his successes at work, and the friends he was making, began to dwindle away until they stopped completely.

At Easter there was no sign of him, and Emily, hurt and bewildered, could not bring herself to ask for news when she met any of the Aubreys. And, a week or so later, she was completely devastated when the announcement of his engagement to a girl called Rebecca West appeared in The Times.

‘He’s done well for himself,’ her father commented curtly over breakfast. He passed the newspaper to Raf Di Salis, who was staying with them again. ‘Her father’s Robert West, of course, the South African media tycoon.’

The Count returned some non-committal reply, but Emily was aware that he was watching her across the table. Which made it utterly essential that she stayed in her seat, eating her toast as if it was all that mattered, when what she really wanted was to escape to her room and give way to the tears tightening in her chest.

But she could not—would not break down in front of Raf Di Salis, of all people.

I hate him, she thought childishly. I hate him for being here. For—knowing how I must feel, because he might just pity me, and that would be unbearable.

But when Simon eventually did return, he had no wife with him, tycoon’s daughter or not. It was Emily herself who had been married for over two years. And she was hesitant at first when Simon rang and asked if he could see her.

‘Nothing heavy, Em,’ he persuaded. ‘Just a chat about old times over a drink.’ He paused. ‘Unless your husband would object.’

She said curtly, ‘He’s not here to express an opinion,’ and the die was cast.

Simon had been frank about his engagement, which had been broken after only a few months.

‘It was never right with Rebecca,’ he said. ‘And I always knew it. Her father encouraged me because her previous fiance had a cocaine habit, and I seemed marginally more acceptable.

‘Plus it had also been made clear to me that your father had very different plans for you. That, all along, he intended you for his aristocratic Italian financier and I had no chance. By asking Rebecca to marry me, I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t care. That I’d moved on. And when I heard you’d actually married Rafaele Di Salis, I felt almost justified.’

He shook his head. ‘But it was hopeless, because I knew in my heart that nothing would ever change the way I felt about you.’

He shot her a keen glance. ‘People in the village say that he’s hardly ever around. That you rarely see him.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Apart from the gossip columns and the pictures in glossy magazines.’

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Doesn’t that hurt you?’

She shrugged. ‘No, why should it? I didn’t marry for love and, as soon as I’m twenty one, the trust will end and I can get a divorce.’

He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. ‘My God, Em.’ His voice was barely a whisper as his hand closed round hers. ‘Are you saying you’re going to be free quite soon—and that you and I might get a second chance?’

She disengaged herself gently. ‘I can’t possibly say that. It’s far too soon and too much has happened.’

He said quietly, ‘I want you back, darling. I should have stayed and fought for you, but I had so little to offer. But now I’ll move heaven and earth to get you back, so be warned.’

And now he has me back, Emily told herself. And we can consign the last three years to well-deserved oblivion, and—be happy.

Starting now, she thought, as she heard the chime of the front doorbell. She uncoiled herself from the chair, smiling in anticipation as she walked across the room and out into the hall, where Mrs Penistone was admitting the newcomer.

‘Simon, how nice.’ She offered her cheek for his kiss, aware of the housekeeper’s faint disapproval. In the older woman’s eyes, Emily was still a married woman even if her marriage had never been conducted on conventional lines. ‘Penny, we’ll have lunch in half an hour.’

‘Yes, madam,’ was the dour reply as Mrs Penistone retreated.

Simon followed Emily into the drawing room and closed the door behind them.

‘Darling,’ he said fervently and took her in his arms, kissing her passionately. As he raised his head at last, he smiled down at her. ‘All intruders dealt with?’ he asked breathlessly. ‘The divorce papers safely signed?’

Emily freed herself gently and moved to one of the sofas. ‘Not—exactly.’

‘But surely they brought them?’ Simon seated himself beside her.

‘Probably. I didn’t ask.’ She hesitated. ‘You see, I’ve decided against a divorce.’

‘What?’ The word seemed to explode into the air. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about marrying me?’

There was a sharpness bordering on anger in his voice that she’d never heard before.

‘Of course not.’ She stroked his cheek with a placatory hand. ‘It’s nothing like that. It just occurred to me that it would be much quicker and simpler if I got an annulment. So I opted for that instead.’

Simon drew a deep, unsteady breath. ‘And you told them this? You—actually said it to your husband’s lawyers?’

‘Naturally.’ Emily paused. ‘I can’t say they were best pleased, but I convinced them I was in earnest and they’ve now gone off to break the news to their lord and master.’

There was a silence, then Simon said hoarsely, ‘Have you gone mad? Are you completely off your bloody head? You’ve sent a message to a man like Raf Di Salis that you want rid of him on the grounds of non-consummation?’ His voice rose. ‘Tell me this is a joke—please.’

Emily’s brows snapped together. ‘I couldn’t be more serious. It’s a far more honest way of ending this travesty than a divorce—especially the no-fault variety Raf is pushing for.’ She lifted her chin. ‘He should think himself lucky. After all, I could be citing all the women that he has slept with since our marriage.’

‘Well, you certainly didn’t want him, so why the hell should you care how he spends his nights?’ Simon got to his feet and began to pace the room restlessly, his face like thunder. ‘For God’s sake, Em, call the lawyers back. Tell them you’ve had second thoughts, before it’s too late, and that you’ll sign anything they want.’

‘Why should I?’

He said bluntly, ‘Because when Di Salis hears you’re asking for an annulment, it will be like a red rag to a bull. And you don’t want him angry, Em. Really you don’t.’

For a moment Emily remembered Signor Mazzini’s warning about throwing down the gauntlet and felt chilled. But she rallied, saying with an assumption of lightness. ‘Poor Simon. What on earth did he do three years ago to scare you so?’

He flushed angrily. ‘He didn’t do anything, in the way you mean. He didn’t even say much—because he didn’t have to. It’s just—the way he is. Maybe you haven’t seen the ruthless side of him, Em’, he added. ‘But it’s there, just below the surface. And I wouldn’t deliberately upset him any more than I’d poke a sleeping tiger with a stick.’

‘But why should he be upset?’ Emily shrugged. ‘He certainly doesn’t want me either, so why the hell should he care how the marriage ends, just as long as it does?’

‘Because I don’t think it’ll be that simple. Not with him.’ Simon paused. ‘God—you didn’t mention me in all this, did you?’

Emily’s frown deepened at the anxiety in his voice. ‘Not by name, but I made it clear I planned to remarry. I’m not ashamed of that. Or of you, for that matter.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I also think it’s time that Count Di Salis realised he can’t always have his own way.’

She paused. ‘And now let’s have a drink. I asked Penny to put some champagne on ice to celebrate the morning’s achievements, but maybe you’d prefer a large Scotch instead.’

‘Make it a treble,’ Simon said moodily. ‘And have one yourself. Because I’m telling you now, Em, before this business is finished you’re going to need it.’