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CHAPTER SIX

‘MIRANDA! Miranda!’

She was being shaken. Crying in fright, she fought her assailant and this time, this time, instead of being unable to move a muscle, she found her fists connecting with flesh.

This, too, had happened before, she thought. And sickness rose in her throat adding to the terror.

‘Get off me! Get off me!’ she screamed instinctively, utterly disorientated.

A hand clapped over her mouth—again. Please, sweet heaven, not again!

Normally her eyes stayed stubbornly shut during her nightmares, but now they snapped open. The light was on in her adjoining sitting room, allowing her to see Dante bending over her, his robe hanging loose to show his bare torso above pale gold pyjama bottoms.

‘Keep the noise down!’ he hissed.

She cringed. Was this what had happened on that fateful evening? Dante assaulting her, she fighting him off…

Groggy from sleep, not fully alert, she lashed out, her arms and legs pummelling him unmercifully. But he resisted, taking the blows with a wince and leaning unnervingly close.

‘Santo cielo! How often must I say that I have no intention of raping you.’ he grated in her ear. ‘You shouted out in your sleep. Began to scream. You’ve had a nightmare, Miranda. Now calm down. I don’t want Carlo disturbed. I know you have a sitting room between here and my bedroom but you were yelling fit to wake the dead!’

Her enormous sapphire eyes stared up at his icily angry face as she came to full consciousness. Yes. It had been that awful recurring dream again. Her tense body went limp and he removed his hand.

In misery, she squeezed her eyes tight shut. Would she never be free of her nightmare? It came relentlessly night after night and she almost feared going to sleep, knowing that some time she would wake as she had now, bathed in sweat and shaking with a terror of something unknown.

‘Cover yourself up,’ he said curtly and in the dim light she saw to her embarrassment that one sleepy-nippled breast had escaped from her low-cut black satin nightdress.

As she scrambled to draw the covers up to her chin, she shivered, the perspiration cooling on her heated skin.

‘I’m so cold!’

The grim-faced Dante turned away and strode to the door. ‘I’ll get you a brandy.’

‘Don’t leave me!’ she cried desperately before she could stop herself.

He stopped dead, his back still to her, fists clenched at his sides. Spoke in a low and husky tone.

‘What is it, Miranda? You never used to have dreams like this.’ He jerked his head around to look at her. ‘Have you been involved in something dark and unpleasant—or with someone who’s taken you to depths you wish you’d never known?’

‘No! Nothing like that!’ she whispered, still in shock from the experience.

‘Something must have caused this! You were frantic. Hysterical.’ His eyes went cold and hard and his voice shook with fury. ‘This is what comes of living dangerously! Inviting God knows who back to our home—’

‘No—!’

‘Drinking, taking drugs—’

‘No—!’

‘And not knowing what the hell happened next!’ he grated, his mouth twisted in disgust. ‘How could you put our son at risk—?’

‘I didn’t! I didn’t!’ she cried piteously. ‘I wouldn’t, honestly, not in a million years—!’

‘You’ve no idea what you did!’ he fumed. ‘And I don’t know how many times it had happened before. I can’t believe you could be so stupid, so irresponsible—’

‘I wasn’t!’ she moaned, her hands covering her face.

His accusations were making her feel worse. She fought to control the waves of nausea as they rolled through her gut and rose to her throat. But she couldn’t defend herself any more because she was unable to speak or to stop the violent shaking. Her teeth chattered and the lines of his mouth flattened out with irritation.

‘Maledizione!’ he muttered.

And in a moment she was being encircled by warm, comforting arms. Held to a naked chest in which a heart beat with such force that it sounded like a rapid drumbeat. The faint rasp of stubble on Dante’s jaw settled firmly against her cheek and he was murmuring soothing words in Italian as if she were a frightened child.

She gave in to her needs. Put her arms around his neck and crushed him hard against her.

‘Please,’ she whispered helplessly. ‘Stay with me!’

Dante groaned. She took his face in her hands to plead with him and found her mouth opening invitingly, her eyes lowering drowsily as she contemplated the incredibly sensual arch of his lips.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, seething with barely controlled anger. With almost indecent haste he pulled away. ‘I won’t go far. I’ll get you some water instead,’ he snapped curtly, standing up and striding to the bathroom. ‘And a towel to wipe your face. You’ll feel better then.’

He continued to talk even when she couldn’t see him, his tones losing their rasping quality and becoming more matter-of-fact as if she were a fractious child to be soothed.

‘…and then we can both get some sleep,’ he was saying in a nannying tone when he re-emerged. ‘Here.’

He thrust a hand towel at her and she obediently used it to wipe the beads of perspiration that had broken out all over her face and throat. But her hand shook too much to hold the glass of water. Dante held it to her lips and frowned as she took small, nervous sips.

‘Are you coming off drugs? Is that the reason for the bad dreams, your loss of weight and this uncontrollable trembling?’ he demanded with a sudden harsh suspicion.

‘How can you think that?’ she cried in horror.

‘You show all the classic signs. I warn you, Miranda,’ he snarled, his face close to hers, ‘if you ever let any illegal substances get within snorting distance of this house, you’ll be on the next flight to England before you know it. Carlo will never see you again—nor will he ever want to! You’ll be wiped from our lives as if you never existed!’

‘I’ve never taken any drugs! Never would in a million years!’ she choked out. ‘I had a nightmare, that’s all. But it was horrible!’ she muttered, shuddering. Her eyes grew enormous, and thinking of it, she began to breathe fast with fear, hating the feeling of helplessness in her dream. ‘So horrible that I daren’t sleep!’ she blurted out. ‘It’ll come back again if I do, I know it.’

Dante frowned. ‘This is not like you to be so negative and defeatist.’

‘I know! But this isn’t any ordinary nightmare, Dante! I live every vile, terrifying second. Someone is assaulting me and I can’t raise a finger to stop it even though every sense is intensified. I smell bad breath. I taste something foul. I feel…’

She clammed up. Would not tell him of those rough, hurting hands. And the frightening blank in her mind that came next. That was even worse and it fed her imagination in ways she didn’t want to know. But he had seen in her face the extent of her horror because he said gruffly,

‘Take it easy. Maybe you’ve learnt your lesson and it’s over—’

‘That’s the trouble!’ she jerked in despair. ‘It isn’t. It returns to haunt me even in the daytime. And comes back night after night.’

A little more of the dream unfolded each time. One day maybe the whole horrific event would reveal itself—and she dreaded that more than anything.

His expression was bleak. ‘Relax,’ he advised tautly. ‘Don’t try to relive it. You have to forget it.’

If only she could! She closed her eyes in misery and felt his hand cover hers, stilling its trembling in an instant. He had the ability to make her feel secure. Even if it was an illusion.

‘Thank you,’ she said, with a grateful glance at his harrowed face. ‘I feel safe with you. No, please!’ she protested when he made to draw his hand away.

‘Be realistic. I can’t stay, can I?’ he said, not unkindly.

But she gripped his wrist to stop him leaving, overwhelmed by an illogical sense of hysteria and trying desperately to locate the protective barrier of her self-control, which seemed to have deserted her for the moment.

‘I need someone here for a short time, till I’ve got myself together again,’ she pleaded, hating the sense of panic that had turned her into a pathetic wimp. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to me, Dante. I’m sorry to be a nuisance and I hate feeling so feeble about this. But the truth is, I’m absolutely terrified of being alone and falling asleep. Please. I am begging you. Stay for a while!’

The tip of his tongue moistened his lips as he contemplated her doubtfully.

‘If this is a ploy—’

‘It’s not! I swear!’ she half sobbed.

‘You must talk to an expert—’

‘I’m not mad!’ she protested.

‘No, but you’re disturbed. You need to discover what has caused this,’ he gritted. ‘I’ve never seen you like this before. Something happened which is festering in your subconscious. You need to know what you did. Only then will you be able to deal with it.’

There was a long pause while she gazed at him anxiously, willing him to remain with her. Holding his warm, dry hand, she felt his strength flow into her. Dizzily she conceded that she needed him badly. Longed to feel his arms around her again, protective and comforting.

‘Stay!’ she croaked, full of longing for him.

He gave a small and resigned sigh. ‘Very well. Just till you fall asleep,’ he muttered grudgingly.

Virtually snatching his hand from hers, he sat down on the bed, plumping up the pillows behind him and settling down so that his back was turned to her.

In relief, Miranda snuggled as close as she dared. ‘I wish I could understand why I have these dreams,’ she mumbled.

He grunted. ‘I should have thought that was obvious. When did they begin?’

‘The night after you left.’

An icy silence stretched long into the semi-darkness. ‘As I expected. I think you’d better go to sleep,’ he growled.

But she wasn’t ready to do so. Dante had found her that fateful night when she’d had that fever. Perhaps he could throw light on what had happened. He might have seen something that would explain what she’d done in her delirium—maybe an overturned table which might have caused her bruises, sheets which had wrapped themselves about her and made her think she was being restrained…

She had to know. A part of her life was missing and her brain was trying to fill in the gaps by giving her these awful nightmares. She’d ask him to discuss it. Now.

‘Dante!’

Tentatively she touched his shoulder, the silk of his robe slipping beguilingly beneath her fingers. He flinched and she withdrew her hand. His body was hot, every muscle held in tension. He was hating this enforced togetherness. And she supposed that he was only staying with her to keep her quiet.

‘Don’t—do—that!’ he gritted out.

She pressed her lips together in dismay. The days of curling up together like two spoons in a drawer were long gone. This was probably the last time he’d ever be physically close to her.

All because of someone who’d fed him lies—who?—and her strange illness which had prompted her to fling champagne about and thrash around in bed, thus sealing the death of her marriage.

‘That night—’

‘I don’t want to talk about it!’

She noticed that his fist had clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white.

‘I need to know what happened—!’

‘Then talk to your boyfriend,’ he said coldly. ‘Or the people in the clubs you frequented—’

‘There was no boyfriend!’ she declared vehemently, sitting up and wriggling around to confront him. ‘No clubs! No reason,’ she added, her hair swinging around her angry face, ‘other than an all-consuming fever that…’

Her voice tailed away. She gulped.

‘An all-consuming fever,’ he husked.

Anger had ceased to dominate his expression. His eyes had fired with desire. His lips had parted over his teeth as his breath hissed in and out in short, hot bursts. They were inches away. In a moment, she imagined wistfully, she would be in his embrace and the past would be forgotten.

She let her eyelids flutter down and waited, hoping for the miracle to happen.

‘Hold me!’ she whispered, intending it to be a soundless wish.

And yet he’d heard her, his impatient outbreath making her snap open her eyes at once in alarm and disappointment.

‘Damn you, Miranda! Stop using your body as a weapon!’ he snapped.

She blinked in confusion. ‘What?’

He shook his head irritably. ‘We have to live together in harmony, Miranda! For the sake of that future relationship, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt over the way you’re behaving at this moment. I am going to assume that you are not using this as a cold-blooded opportunity to get me into bed. I’ll be charitable and believe that you’re frightened and you’re looking for comfort.’

Her face flamed with humiliation. Comfort and love. Wasn’t everyone? she thought resentfully.

‘Of course that’s right!’ she mumbled, appalled by her weakness for him.

He stood up, pulling his robe across his chest to cover it. Every gesture, the set of his body, told her that he was distancing himself from her emotionally. She bit her lip. He was going to leave. She’d handled this very badly.

‘We can’t allow ourselves to get into this kind of situation, Miranda,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m sorry that you’re frightened and upset but there’s a limit to what I can do for you. Or what I want to do.’ His eyes burned into hers. ‘You know perfectly well that if I hold you, we’ll have sex because our bodies are still programmed to do so. I’m flesh and blood, as you know too well. You’re a woman, in bed and provocatively dressed, and I haven’t had sex for some time.’

‘Sex,’ she whispered. ‘Is that all it is for you?’

‘It’s a powerful drug and we’ve become addicts,’ he growled. ‘But anything between us would be lust and nothing else and I’d be disgusted with myself afterwards. I’d also be angry with you. A sexual relationship would complicate our business arrangement. I’m sure you would agree.’

So cold. He might have been a total stranger. She began to withdraw into her shell, wrapping herself in her long-established defences so she would not be hurt again.

‘Perhaps,’ she suggested in compromise, hoping she sounded cool and composed, ‘you could sit in the chair over there for a while.’

He studied her. She was conscious of her tumbling hair and the fact that the bedclothes no longer covered her. She had scrambled up with her body curled to one side, her nightdress settling in rich folds around her thighs and leaving her long legs bare.

His brooding stare lowered from her dishevelled hair and drowsy eyes to her throat, where a pulse beat hard and urgently. To her creamy shoulders. The curving line where her nightdress dipped and rose sinuously to hug her breasts.

Her defences crumbled in an instant. Flames licked through her body unmercifully.

‘I think not,’ he said thickly.

He raked a hand through his hair till it was uncharacteristically tousled. He looked almost vulnerable, his dark eyes huge and liquid. However hard she tried, she couldn’t stop wanting him. And it was crucifying her.

There seemed to be a current flowing between them. A last remaining link perhaps, however tenuous, of the passions they had aroused in one another. He despised her—but he desired her, as well.

The evidence was all too obvious and she felt a spasm of excitement vibrating in every nerve of her body. Because there was one sure way to get rid of their unwanted lust. And before she realised what she was doing, she found herself saying recklessly,

‘Dante…I can see that you hate being tied to me. I feel the same about you. I want to be back in control. Why don’t we lay all the ghosts once and for all? We are married, after all—’

‘Out of the question!’ he exclaimed, knowing by her expression exactly what she had in mind.

To make love. To rid themselves of this need for one another. And to start again, cold, indifferent, businesslike.

Or would they?

She heaved in a breath, realising that they’d never know. He’d fight his desire all the way. But then it was easier for him. He’d never loved her as she’d loved him.

‘I had thought you might be prepared to comfort me,’ she faltered. ‘Hold me securely until I slept.’

‘And?’ he challenged.

Trapped by his laser stare, she lowered her eyes, unable to understand why she couldn’t get it into her head that he had never had any deep feelings for her. It seemed her heart just wouldn’t accept that fact. Nor her body. It seemed inconceivable that she could ever contemplate sex without love. Worse, that she could want a man who had nothing but contempt for her.

And yet she seemed to be obsessed by Dante. He possessed her, body and soul, and she was alarmingly helpless in the face of her irrational passion. All her life she’d been in command of herself. Losing control like this was alarming. The situation had to change. She decided to be frank.

‘I’m not going to beat about the bush. You said yourself that we want one another,’ she defended quietly.

‘And we must resist that, for our own self-respect,’ he muttered.

Then she looked up at him, catching a wrench of despair crossing his face. Emboldened by the evidence of his dilemma, she spoke her mind.

‘You say it’s inevitable that these feelings will remain for a while—and you’re right. What are we going to do when this happens again, then? Spend our spare time taking cold showers?’

‘There can be no other solution,’ he replied bleakly.

‘You and I had sex without love for the whole of our marriage,’ she pointed out with some tartness.

He might not have loved her, but he’d been perfectly willing to use her. She went cold. Had he found someone else?

Fury blazed in his eyes and his mouth compressed. ‘That’s no excuse to repeat it. I am not your comfort blanket!’ he snarled. ‘I will not be used to satisfy your needs! The situation is too delicate. I accept that this has been a difficult day for both of us but I am sure things will be easier in the morning. You’re tough, Miranda. You’ll get used to the lack of sex—’

‘And you?’ she asked unhappily.

One day he’d really fall in love. She felt her stomach cramp. Even if there wasn’t anyone at the moment, there was a danger that he’d meet the love of his life one day. Another woman in his bed, as his wife. The pain racked her.

Another woman mothering Carlo. Then, Miranda thought in dismay, she’d really be defunct. Fear raced through her, draining what little strength she had. The danger had never dawned on her before. She wouldn’t let that happen! But how could she ever prevent it?

‘I can get used to anything if it means Carlo is happy,’ Dante replied, his eyes like cold black pebbles. ‘His welfare will always be uppermost in my mind. We have to make this work, Miranda! We can’t let him down.’

She knew then that she would move heaven and earth to clear her name. Perhaps then, she thought wistfully, like many who were in arranged marriages, he’d eventually fall in love with her.

It was her only hope if she was to stay close to the two people who had captivated her heart.

‘I know! I swear that I will do everything I can to make this a success!’ she whispered, choked with emotion.

‘Make sure you do.’

After one last look at her huge, bruised eyes, he spun around on his heel and strode rapidly into her sitting room. The light there flicked off, leaving her in the dark. The connecting doors closed softly and she heard the sound of a key turning.

A subdued Miranda slid beneath the bedclothes, her heart beating like a drum. As well as the nightmares when she went to bed, she’d be living one during each day. Being close to Dante and behaving with polite restraint would be harder than she could ever have believed. It would be torture to be in his company—and yet not able to reveal her true feelings.

He still held her heart in his hands. Despite everything, she loved him more than she could believe possible. Wanted him. As a friend, companion, a lover, a husband. Longed for his respect and admiration. And that all seemed a very long way from being realised.

‘Oh, sweet heaven!’ she whispered into the blackness of the room. ‘Make me strong for Carlo’s sake!’

Dante was wrong. It wouldn’t be better in the morning. Miranda gritted her teeth, determined not to be destroyed by the situation. Tomorrow she might be calmer and able to deal with the problem.

Her life had been hard before and she had overcome it. Nothing was impossible. Not even winning Dante’s approval and, one day, his love. Which meant she must become lovable in his eyes. A warm and inviting woman.

So she would have to change.

Dante had found her rigid self-control to be a barrier between them. But could she risk surrendering that and exposing herself to hurt?

Sleep would not come. After tossing and turning for a while, she gave up and slipped from the bed. By feeling her way across the room, she managed to locate the floor-to-ceiling window and the mechanism to pull back the drapes.

Immediately she felt soothed. Across the tar-black lake, village lights twinkled seductively and danced in the water with their shimmering gold reflections. The garden below was lit with soft-focus lamps, making it seem a magical place. A paradise in which Carlo could grow up.

Her heartbeat slowed. Yes. She could do it. It would take tenacity and grit, but she would slowly and surely establish her position as someone with high moral values and total devotion to the family. That was all that mattered.

Her thoughtful gaze fell on a figure, which had stepped out onto the terrace. Dante, dressed in jeans and a sweater, with the antenna of a baby alarm sticking out of his pocket. Miranda drew back a little, not wishing to be seen, but he didn’t glance back at the house once.

Like her, he studied the view and she saw his high shoulders gradually ease to a more normal level. Head lowered, he began to pace up and down. For a while she watched in some sympathy, then she stumbled back to bed, somewhat consoled that he too had been disturbed, even though his agitation had probably only been caused by unrelieved lust.

And perhaps also, she thought wryly, by the idea of harbouring an alcoholic junkie under his roof!

For a long time she chewed over the situation. Gradually she came to the conclusion that, however ruthless he might be, he was also honest and fair. He’d acknowledged her distress and had realised that it had been a difficult day for her. Hopefully their misunderstandings would be corrected. They must be, if she was to survive his suspicion.

One joy remained to boost her spirits. She smiled tenderly as she snuggled into the pillow. In the morning she would be with Carlo. And for that privilege, she would weather any storms and cope with any hardships.

She had a chance to prove herself. For the three of them to become a real family. And for that result, she would go to hell and back. And, she thought wryly, she probably would.