Читать книгу The Forced Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 6

‘I WON’T see him,’ Emily said stormily. ‘I will not.’

‘And just how,’ Simon asked, ‘do you plan to avoid him?’

‘I don’t know. But I’ll find some way.’ She looked at the piece of paper crumpled in her hand. ‘As soon as I received his letter I wrote back, making it perfectly clear that I wouldn’t meet him under any circumstances. That any discussion must be conducted only through our lawyers.’

‘Hell’s bells.’ Simon sounded startled. ‘Surely you don’t expect old Henshaw to handle this kind of thing? It would be the death of him.’

‘Of course not,’ Emily returned irritably. ‘He’s Raf’s cotrustee, for heaven’s sake. Thinks the sun shines out of him. No, I was planning to hire some big-hitter from London. Someone who won’t run scared of the great Count Di Salis.

‘And now—today—I get back from shopping,’ she added furiously, ‘to find this—this bloody telephone message, saying that he’s arriving in England in forty-eight hours time and I can expect to see him the following day.’

She swallowed. ‘What’s worse, he actually dared to tell Penny that he couldn’t wait to see me again, and now she’s being all arch and asking which room she should prepare for him, and what would he like for dinner?’

‘I didn’t know she was such a romantic,’ Simon muttered.

Emily glared at him. ‘He flirts with her,’ she said stonily. ‘Outrageously.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, Simon, what am I going to do? And please don’t say “I told you so.”’

Simon was silent for a moment. ‘Have you called him back?’

She shook her head. ‘I came straight here to ask your advice.’

Simon chewed on his lip. He seemed, Emily thought, as much on edge as she was herself.

‘Why not get in touch with him?’ he said at last. ‘See if you can head him off by agreeing to his quickie divorce.’

‘Never,’ she said fiercely.

‘But what other solution is there—apart from running away, of course?’

Emily lifted her head and stared at him. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘Darling, you’re a genius.’ She nodded, her eyes narrowing. ‘When he arrives, I just won’t be there. Penny can tell him quite truthfully that I’ve gone away for an indefinite period and left no forwarding address.’

Her mouth curled. ‘The world of finance is bound to collapse without him, so he won’t want to hang around, waiting for my return. Apart from anything else, it would make him look very silly,’ she added reflectively.

‘And, as soon as he’s out of the way again, I can get the annulment started.’ She gave a small exultant laugh. ‘Everything beautifully sorted.’

‘But where will you go?’ Simon asked. ‘You haven’t got long to decide.’

‘Somewhere that he won’t even dream of looking.’ She thought for a moment, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. ‘I can’t use my passport, of course. I’m sure he could trace me. So it will have to be some incredibly unlikely place in this country.’

There was another silence, then Simon said slowly, ‘Actually, I might be able to help you there. Some people I know have a weekend cottage in Scotland—a village miles from anywhere called Tullabrae. They rent the place out when they’re not using it.’

‘Scotland?’ Emily repeated. ‘I don’t suppose Raf even knows where that is.’ She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Is it empty at the moment?’

Simon looked towards the window, at the expanse of wintry sky, and pulled a face. ‘Almost certainly, I’d say.’

‘God, it could save my life.’ She thought rapidly. ‘I could rent it for two weeks. That will give Raf plenty of time to give me up as a bad job and go back to Paris or Hong Kong or wherever he’s operating from at the moment.’ She put an eager hand on his arm. ‘Could you contact them for me—make the arrangements? Tell them I’ll pay cash.’

He looked down at the carpet. ‘Yes—I suppose so.’ His tone sounded strange. ‘If that’s what you really want.’

‘Well, of course it is.’ She was puzzled. ‘It sounds ideal. And as you say, I haven’t much time.’

He made no reply and she looked at him, frowning a little. ‘Darling, is something wrong? You’ve been odd ever since I got here.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He summoned a smile. ‘It’s just—Scotland in January. The weather could be tricky.’

‘All the better,’ Emily said triumphantly. ‘Count Di Salis prefers his snow in the Italian Alps, designer style. The domestic kind won’t appeal to him at all.’

For a moment he hesitated, then got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll email them now. Make the deal.’ He paused at the door. ‘Shall I ask Tracey to bring you a hot drink? I won’t specify the flavour, as everything tastes like dishwater.’

Emily wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks, my love, but no thanks.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you told your aunt and uncle yet that Mrs Whipple left? I bet they’re devastated after all these years. I know how I’d feel if Penny gave notice.’

‘I haven’t said anything yet. They’re having such a great time on their trip, I don’t want to spoil things. And I’ll hire someone else before they get back.’

Left alone, Emily looked around her. The drawing room at High Gables had always been a gracious room, with its beautiful Chinese carpet and pastel furnishings, but since the housekeeper’s departure it was beginning to look shabby and unloved. Bare too, she thought, with faint puzzlement. The Georgian candlesticks were missing from the mantelpiece and the bow-fronted cabinet containing Celia Aubrey’s prized collection of Meissen figurines seemed half-empty.

It still seemed incredible that Mrs Whipple should have left while her employers were on their holiday of a lifetime, visiting relatives and old friends on a leisurely trip that would take them all round the world.

And even worse that her place had been taken by Tracey Mason, even temporarily, who’d been sacked as a barmaid from the Red Lion for poor timekeeping and general laziness.

And with no one to keep an eye on her except Simon, who was house-sitting in the Aubreys’ absence and running his own import business from High Gables at the same time.

But, although he might jib at Tracey’s coffee, manlike, he probably didn’t notice unpolished furniture and smeared windows, or tally the amount of breakages.

I hope he does look for a permanent replacement for her soon, Emily thought with a sigh, because the house is beginning to look really sad now.

As though its pulse had stopped beating. And that wouldn’t have happened in Mrs Whipple’s day.

Much as Emily had grieved for her father, she’d been determined, after his death, to see that the Manor remained just as it had been, with all the gracious charm he’d loved, setting her face resolutely against any suggestions of further modernisation. And, although it galled her to admit it, Raf Di Salis had accepted her stance and allowed her to have her way.

She got up restively and went to the window. I don’t want to give him credit, she thought, but in this case I have to. He’s fulfilled his part of the bargain. And I—I haven’t made waves. Or, not until now.

She sometimes wondered if she hadn’t been pressured into becoming his wife—if he’d simply acted as her trustee—whether they could have managed some semblance of a working relationship.

In the months before the bombshell of her father’s terminal illness had burst on her, she might not have welcomed Raf’s visits but she’d almost become accustomed to them.

And when she’d been summoned home from school in the middle of the summer term to the news that Sir Travers had suddenly collapsed, she’d been almost glad to find him there and had come almost insensibly to rely on his quiet, almost impersonal kindness in the trauma of the weeks that followed.

An inoperable brain tumour, the doctors had told her, their faces compassionate. And only a matter of time…

‘I’ve changed my will,’ Sir Travers said one afternoon when she was sitting with him. ‘You’ll still inherit everything I have to leave, my dearest, but not until you’re twenty-one and better able to cope with that kind of responsibility.

‘In the meantime, however, I’ve created a trust and your affairs will be administered by Leonard Henshaw.’ He paused. ‘And also by Rafaele.’

The breath caught in her throat. ‘Oh, no, surely not.’ The protest was instinctive. ‘Mr Henshaw I can understand, if you think this trust is really necessary, but Count Di Salis is—practically a stranger,’ she added stiltedly.

‘I thought that lately you’d become friends.’

‘Hardly that, although he’s been—helpful.’

‘Nevertheless, this is my decision and it will stand.’ He paused. ‘There is one more thing. As my heiress, you could find yourself the target of unscrupulous people and I wish you to be—properly shielded.

‘I have discussed this with Rafaele and he has a suggestion to put to you.’

Her heart seemed to stop. ‘What—what kind of suggestion?’

‘He intends to ask you to become his wife.’ He saw the shock in her pale face and put his hand over hers. ‘Naturally, he would not expect it to be a marriage in the—conventional sense,’ he added awkwardly. ‘Because you’re still young for that kind of commitment, even if you wished it.’ He paused. ‘Do you wish it?’

‘No,’ Emily managed.

Not with him, she thought wildly. Never with him.

‘Then, as your husband, Raf would simply become your legal protector for the duration of the trust.’ The drawn face smiled a little. ‘Keeping the wolves at bay, my darling.’

And who’ll keep him at bay? She thought it, but did not say it.

‘And when the trust ends?’ she questioned tautly.

‘Naturally, you would both be free to go your separate ways. I have his word on that.’

Her voice was strained. ‘But this can’t be what he wants either.’

‘Perhaps not,’ her father said. ‘Let’s just say it’s his way of repaying an old debt.’ He paused. ‘Emily, I can’t force you to marry Raf Di Salis, but I need to know that when I’m gone, you won’t be alone. For my peace of mind, I beg you to accept his proposal. Do this for me, darling—please. I can rest easy only if I know you’re being cared for.’

The hoarse words were like nails being driven into her coffin. She said tonelessly, ‘If it’s—really what you wish…’

‘It is.’ He patted her hand. ‘Go to him, my dear. He’s waiting for you in the drawing room.’

Raf was standing by the window when she entered. He looked at her, his face expressionless.

‘Your father has told you what I wish to ask?’

‘Yes.’

‘So—will you be my wife, Emilia?’

‘Yes,’ she said again.

She thought he was going to come towards her and was suddenly assailed by a vivid memory of his arms holding her, his lips caressing hers. She froze and immediately felt foolish, because he hadn’t moved at all. In fact, it was almost as if he’d taken a step backwards, she thought in confusion.

His tone was wintry. ‘Then it is settled. You have given your word to me and to your father, which I think is more important.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Yes.’

‘And he explained the terms of the contract between us? Just nod or shake your head.’ His voice bit. ‘Spare me another monosyllable.’

Her eyes flashed angrily, but she gave a reluctant nod.

‘You clearly expect to be obeyed,’ she said coldly. ‘I hope you don’t require to be loved and honoured too.’

‘I am no believer in miracles.’ He walked across the room to the door. His faint smile was ironic. ‘Now, shall we go to your father and share our good news?’

Remembering, Emily bit her lip. It was the marriage, she thought, that had finally sealed the impenetrable barrier between them.

She had tried to play the minor role in his life assigned to her quietly and dutifully, but it had never been easy—had made her tongue-tied and wary when he was around. And oddly resentful when he wasn’t.

And, although he’d adhered strictly to the terms of their arrangement, she’d always been aware of a strange tension between them and felt nervous and on edge whenever she was obliged to be alone with him.

So—I have no intention of ever being alone with him again, she thought, staring at the bare trees outside. And very soon now I won’t even have to think about him.

And she wouldn’t be looking back at the past now, she told herself, if Raf hadn’t forced himself back into her consciousness like this.

She glanced down at her watch, wondering what on earth was keeping Simon all this time. Maybe the cottage wasn’t available after all, but there would be others.

And maybe she was wrong to involve him. After all, he’d had one run in with Raf Di Salis already and could well be targeted again, when her husband came looking for her. Perhaps it was the thought of that which was making him so morose—and odd.

She was on her way to the door to say she’d changed her mind when he returned.

‘The booking’s all made, starting from the day after tomorrow. The caretaker in the village will be informed and have the place ready for you.’ He gave her a sheet of paper printed with a detailed description of the cottage and how it could be reached. ‘The nearest station is Kilrossan,’ he said. ‘Let Mrs McEwen know the time of your train and you’ll be met.’ He paused. ‘I made the reservation in your maiden name. I hope that’s all right.’

‘Entirely appropriate,’ she said. ‘Under the circumstances.’

She was half-expecting him to offer to go with her. She would refuse, of course. Her marriage vows might be totally meaningless, but, unlike Raf Di Salis, she intended to keep them, even for the short time that was left. And, to give Simon his due, he seemed to accept this, even if he didn’t completely understand.

But then, she thought, I’m not sure I understand myself.

She said, ‘I’d better go home and start packing. Although I’ll have to be careful or Penny will get suspicious.’

‘Tell her what she wants to hear,’ he said. ‘Let her think you’re going off to meet your husband, but that it’s all to be a huge surprise.’

‘Now why didn’t I think of that?’ She went to him, lifting her face for his kiss. ‘Will you be all right—if Raf comes asking questions?’

‘He won’t,’ he said. ‘His pride would never stand for it.’

‘I’ll miss you. Let me know as soon as the coast’s clear and I’ll come back.’

‘And I’ll miss you too.’ His mouth was suddenly hot and passionate on hers. It was the first real sign of emotion he’d shown that morning and Emily tried to respond with equal ardour. But it wasn’t easy when she felt so apprehensive, and eventually she freed herself gently.

‘I’m sorry, darling. I can’t seem to think of much beyond getting away from here.’

As they walked to the door, his arm round her shoulders, she said, ‘By the way, what’s happened to the candlesticks?’

‘Candlesticks?’

She pointed at the fireplace. ‘The lovely silver ones that used to stand right there.’

Simon shrugged indifferently. ‘Aunt Celia probably put them away before she left. They’ll turn up.’

She looked sideways at him. ‘You sound miserable again.’

He looked past her. ‘Scotland’s a long way and two weeks can seem like for ever.’

‘They’ll soon pass,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll be together again. And for always this time.’

As her car moved down the drive she turned to wave, but there was no one there and she realised that Simon had gone back in the house, closing the door behind him.

As if, she thought, he could not bear to see her go. Yet, instead of being pleased, she found suddenly that she was shivering. And wondered why.

So far, so good, thought Emily as the express train ate up the miles between London and Glasgow.

Getting away from the Manor had been altogether easier than she’d expected. Penny had swallowed her ludicrous story about meeting Raf in London and beamed at Emily’s blush, even though it was inspired by guilt rather than anticipation of a blissful marital reunion.

And yet the housekeeper knew that Emily and Raf had never so much as shared a room when he stayed at the Manor.

Unless she thinks he pays me secret visits when the lights are out, Emily thought, grimacing inwardly.

In fact, the only time Raf had ever entered her bedroom at all had been on their wedding night. And that for the briefest possible time.

Her father had died, quite peacefully, only a week after she’d become engaged. And the wedding had taken place just over a month later, a quiet register office ceremony with Leonard Henshaw and his wife as the only witnesses.

Afterwards, they had flown to Italy for what was supposed to be their honeymoon.

‘It is the convention,’ Raf said simply when she tried to protest. ‘And anyway, I would like to show you my home.’ He paused. ‘Is that—agreeable to you?’

She swallowed. ‘Won’t it be very hot in Rome at this time of year?’

‘There is a pool,’ he said. ‘Do you like to swim?’

She had a sudden vision of the pool at High Gables and Simon splashing her, laughing in the sunlight.

She turned away. ‘I used to. Not any more.’ And thought she heard him sigh.

But she had to admit that the house just outside Rome was beautiful, if a little gloomy, with its marble floors and old-fashioned furniture. It was older even than the Manor and larger too, with a labyrinth of passages and rooms, many of them with ornamental ceilings and frescoed walls, and most of them in need of attention.

It also required a considerable staff to run it and, to Emily’s embarrassment, they were all lined up waiting to welcome her in high excitement.

If they only knew, she thought bitterly, that their new Contessa is a total fraud.

And a worried fraud at that, for she seemed to have been assigned the most enormous bedroom, with the largest canopied bed she’d ever seen, and the maids who unpacked for her were exchanging conspiratorial smiles as they arranged her prettiest white nightdress across the embroidered coverlet.

Emily felt her throat tighten in fright. In spite of Raf’s assurances, it seemed obvious that the scene was being set for the ritual deflowering of the latest Di Salis bride.

And her nervousness increased when she discovered that, as well as doors to a dressing room and a large bathroom, there was also direct access to an adjoining and equally imposing room, which bore all the signs of male occupation. And realised that, although this door had an ornate lock, there was no key to go with it.

Dinner was served much later than she was accustomed to and, while the food was delicious, she had little appetite for it and none at all for the wine which accompanied it.

She needed, she thought, to stay very, very sober.

And, even if she wasn’t hungry, to make the meal last as long as possible.

‘You look tired,’ Raf commented, as the cheese course was being cleared.

‘A little,’ she returned cautiously. She was actually dead on her feet but she wasn’t going to admit as much.

‘It has been a long day,’ he said, confirming all her worst fears by adding, ‘I suggest you go to bed.’ He paused. ‘Can you find your way back to your room?’

‘Of course,’ she said too quickly, in case he offered to escort her.

‘If you get lost, call out and eager rescuers will immediately appear.’ He smiled at her. ‘You are an object of fascination for the entire household, you understand.’

‘Yes,’ she returned tautly. ‘I—gathered that.’

Raf was leaning back in his chair, his lean fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass.

‘You looked very lovely today, mia cara,’ he said quietly. ‘Your dress was charming.’

‘It—it wasn’t new. I wore it when Daddy took me to Ascot one time.’ She remembered with a pang how joyously she’d chosen the slender cream silk shift just skimming her knees.

She added stiffly, ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘If you had worn it a hundred times, you would have looked no less beautiful.’

The conversation was taking altogether too personal a turn, she decided, and pushed back her chair, pretending to yawn.

‘I think maybe you’re right and I should call it a day.’

He rose too. ‘Then I wish you goodnight.’

She murmured something in reply and went, trying not to hurry too obviously. At least he hadn’t attempted to kiss her, she thought, as she went up the wide sweep of staircase. Nor was he following her.

But she breathed more easily when she reached her room and, having stumblingly dismissed the maid who was waiting to assist her, showered and cleaned her teeth in the palatial bathroom, then put on the nightdress that Penny must have substituted for the satin pyjamas she’d intended to bring and climbed up into that monster of a bed.

It was a very comfortable monster, she discovered, and the linen was scented with rose-water. But she couldn’t relax. She kept watching the communicating door, asking herself what she would do if it opened, and dreading the moment when she might be called on to make a decision.

But, just when she’d resolved it was safe enough to put out the lamp and get some sleep, she heard a faint noise and looked up to see Raf standing there in the open doorway. He was barefoot, his jacket and tie discarded and his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing the strong column of his throat and the dark smooth skin of his chest.

For what seemed an eternity they stared at each other. Emily sat transfixed, her heart thudding erratically, her mouth suddenly dry, aware that one lacy strap had slipped down from her shoulder, but not daring to adjust it. Just waiting for him to say something—do something.

But when he moved, it was simply to put out a hand and steady himself against the doorframe. For a terrible moment she thought he was drunk and tensed involuntarily. However, when he spoke his voice was crisp and clear, without slurring.

‘Emilia, my household has—expectations about tonight and its usual significance, which may have caused you concern.

‘I wish to say that you have no need to fear that I will break my word to you. Today’s ceremony changed nothing and our marriage is still a business arrangement which can—will remain in name only, as you wish. Then, when you are twenty one, you will be free to live your own life and—find happiness.’

He made her a slight bow, then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.

For a long time, Emily recalled, she’d sat quite still, gazing unseeingly into space, aware only of the still-flurried race of her heart. And when, eventually, she’d reached for the lamp switch, she’d discovered that her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

Just as it was trembling again now, at this moment, as she picked up the carton of coffee in front of her and drank.

Why am I doing this to myself? she asked with a kind of desperation. Remembering all this—stuff. It must be the most pointless exercise of my entire life. Because it changes nothing. It can’t…

But perhaps it was something she needed to do, if only to convince herself that the stance she was taking was completely justified. That her relationship with Raf Di Salis had been null and void from the beginning and that it was hypocritical to pretend otherwise.

Although she could quite see that it would be a blow to Raf’s amour-propre to be forced to admit openly that his wife was not among his numerous conquests.

In fact, he’d been prepared to go to considerable lengths to present a very different picture of their relationship, she recalled, wincing.

It had been the morning after the wedding and it seemed to Emily that she’d only just managed to drop into a restless sleep when she had been woken by a hand on her shoulder and opened heavy eyes to see Raf standing beside the bed.

She’d sat up, pushing back her hair, instantly defensive.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was husky.

His mouth tightened. ‘To give you this.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Open it,’ he directed.

She obeyed and gasped when she saw the beautiful square sapphire enclosed by small diamonds that it contained.

‘An engagement ring?’ She frowned in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that?’

‘It is a family tradition,’ he said quietly. ‘This ring is given by each Count to his bride on the first day of their honeymoon as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’

Her face flamed. ‘No way.’

‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear? Now put it on.’

She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made for her alone.

‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about?’ she asked haughtily.

‘If I think of any, I will tell you.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ He added wryly, ‘You will not be disturbed again.’ And left her.

To her own astonishment, she fell asleep within minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.

She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would be under scrutiny, however discreet.

Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.

‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.

It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.