Читать книгу At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command - Fiona Hood-Stewart, Susan Stephens, Fiona Hood-Stewart - Страница 12

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE felt battered and bruised. If it hadn’t been for Carlo, she would have gone back to the palazzo and wept in her room till she could weep no more. Then she would have taken the next flight home, to prepare for a lonely and loveless future.

But of course she had to stick this out. And she knew that in two hours they were to collect him for his treat in Maggiore. She had no intention of appearing red-eyed and defeated in front of her son.

Because of that she conquered her urge to sob her heart out and forced herself to reply to Dante’s inconsequential remarks during the meal.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said politely. ‘The strangozzi is excellent.’

Resolutely avoiding his eyes, she jabbed her fork into the noodles and scooped up some of the anchovy and peppers with it.

‘More wine?’ he enquired solicitously. ‘And please smile occasionally.’

Repressing the urge to say ‘what for?’ she managed a strained smile and a nod. As he filled her glass, she muttered,

‘You care very much what people think of us, don’t you?’

He leaned forward as if he were saying something intimate and romantic.

‘You know perfectly well that I don’t want Carlo to become aware that anything’s amiss. And that means other people must be convinced of our unity.’

She heaved a huge sigh. That was all he cared about. Well, she wasn’t going to continue this farce. Dante had to be forced to accept her innocence.

‘I want to talk to you later,’ she muttered. ‘When he’s in bed.’

‘Look at me.’

Her eyes lifted in sullen query. ‘Well? I’m looking.’

‘You can’t sulk. Lovers gaze into one another’s eyes,’ he said huskily.

She winced. ‘We’re married,’ she retorted, trying to hide her anguish.

Dante reached across the table and caught her hand in his. While she rejoiced in the warmth of his grip, she had to steel herself against the urge to leap up and run away from the cruel charade they were playing.

‘It was part of our agreement that you would keep up appearances,’ he reminded her with soft menace. ‘You agreed to this. And confirmed it only moments ago.’ His voice grew husky. ‘You will look at me as if you love me. As if I am the only man in the world for you.’

His fingers began to stroke her palm and she could bear it no longer.

‘Please, Dante! I want to leave!’ she whispered in desperation.

A moment’s pause. Then, ‘Yes. Why not?’

And to her surprise, he flung some notes on the table and drew her to her feet, calling back something to the waiter, who had come running to see what was the matter.

Dante held her hard against him as they walked away. They turned into a narrow side-street and suddenly the noise and bustle became a distant murmur. She was lost in her own misery and had never felt more alone. Pretending they were happily married was harder than she’d ever imagined. And they had months and years of it to come! She ground her teeth.

‘I’m surprised you didn’t refuse my request,’ she muttered tetchily.

Dante’s breath sounded harsh. ‘It wouldn’t surprise anyone to imagine that we’re hurrying off to spend the rest of the day in bed.’

Miranda stiffened and froze. ‘What?’ she choked in horror. ‘You told a waiter—?’

‘No!’ he said impatiently. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing anything so crass. But he is a man and knows of the whirlwind of passion that can strike at any time and he will put two and two together—’

‘And it matters what a waiter thinks?’ she snapped, stalking on again.

She felt suffocated. Her life wasn’t her own. It was composed of lies and deception.

‘Yes. Because he’ll gossip,’ Dante answered tersely. ‘My arrival in the town has been noted with interest. Yours has been eagerly awaited. Haven’t you noticed everyone staring?’

She was used to that. People always stared when she walked about with Dante—though he’d always asserted they’d been looking at her.

‘I suppose you’re delighted with your morning’s work,’ she grouched, barely able to hold back her temper. ‘The whole of Bellagio will soon know how perfect our marriage is! It’s hateful, having to pretend! I feel I’m deceiving everyone. Your mother, your friends…’

She clenched her teeth to stop a sob from escaping. Oh, Carlo, she thought, if only you knew what I have to do to be with you!

Dante turned her to face him, his eyes glittering with a frightening intensity.

‘What makes you think you have the monopoly on feelings?’ he said tautly. ‘Why do you imagine you’re the only one who is finding this an utter nightmare? That I don’t loathe the deception too? This situation is a million miles from what I really want. But it’s all I’m going to get so I have to put up with it.’

Her mouth clammed shut. His misery affected her strangely. She wanted to make him happy, to see him content. But that would never be, not while they were trapped in this farcical marriage.

‘Oh, hell!’ he groaned. ‘That’s all I need, right at this minute!’

He was glowering darkly at a villa decorated with blue and white streamers and matching rosettes. Bows had been tied in blue and white ribbons on every railing spike of the surrounding fence and banners had been strung across the lane.

She frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘This is where the groom lives,’ he muttered, storming ahead. Only to be confronted with another villa similarly decorated, this time in pink and white. Dante stopped and glared at the offending gaiety. ‘I could do without having weddings thrust down my throat!’ he growled.

In a flash of intuition she jerked out, ‘You wish you had true love, too.’

He winced at the joyful ribbons fluttering in the breeze and looked away.

‘Don’t we all?’

It was her turn to wince. As they walked back to the palazzo in total silence, she felt sadness creep through her, filling every part of her yearning body. He felt trapped. He was young and virile and facing the daunting prospect of marriage to a woman he didn’t love—for the foreseeable future.

She shrank at the thought. Maybe they had both made a mistake in thinking that they must stay together for Carlo’s sake. For Dante, a civilised divorce and shared custody might be a better solution.

Though she would need assurances about her future role if she was ever to agree to such a drastic step. And she didn’t know how she would cope when he remarried—as he surely would.

Miranda stomped along miserably, trying to sort out the mess they’d made of their lives. She knew one thing. Whatever they decided, she must clear the air. She couldn’t let him think she was a bad mother and an unfaithful wife. He had to know that she hadn’t treated her marriage vows lightly, even if he had.

And that, she mused optimistically, might change his attitude towards her. She brightened up a little.

‘I think we need some time apart now. This has been tougher than I imagined,’ Dante muttered as he unlocked a small gate into the garden and deactivated the alarm. He glared at her. ‘When we collect Carlo later, I expect you to make an effort to be friendly towards me.’

‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll give it my all. And tonight,’ she added with steely determination, ‘we will talk this situation through. There’s some things we must get straight. And we need some ground rules.’

‘We’ll need more than rules to keep us in check,’ he growled, and before she could ask him to explain the cryptic statement he strode away rapidly through an archway of lemon trees.

She filled the time wandering in the garden, trying to come to terms with Dante’s feelings about her. Tonight she would make him reveal who’d told him all those lies about her. And they’d confront this person together, she vowed grimly, demanding evidence.

And somehow they’d discover what had happened that night she was taken ill. Maybe a friend had come round before the flu had hit her—though she didn’t know anyone who’d be able to knock back so much champagne.

Her eyes darkened as she gazed out over the untroubled lake. The overwhelming temptation was to retreat into her shell and pretend that nothing hurt her. But now she realised that hiding her feelings had led Dante to believe she didn’t love him. Or Carlo.

She had to go for broke. Dante needed to know how deep her feelings were, even if that meant risking his contempt and rejection.

It was an unnerving prospect. Nothing she had done so far—concealing her misery at her father’s death, shouldering her sister’s upbringing and suppressing her longing for fun and freedom—had been as hard as this.

But she loved Carlo and she loved Dante with all her heart. Misguided though it might be, she harboured a fancy in the back of her mind that if she persevered they could be a real family again. It was worth the try, worth the risk of being hurt.

Nervous but resolved, she checked her watch and saw to her surprise that it was time to collect Carlo.

At first, she and Dante were a little strained and false when they met him at the nursery. Their chatter was ridiculously bright and bordering on the inane. But soon she was caught up in her love for her child and the fun of seeing the world through his eyes.

‘Dat’s Mummy,’ he said proudly, presenting her with a painting consisting entirely of muddied splodges. ‘Mummy on de floor.’

‘It’s lovely!’ she enthused, spotting a small smear of blue—presumably her—in the middle of the brown swirls. ‘What am I doing on the floor?’

‘Larfing,’ Carlo said with a giggle and she swept him into her arms. ‘Mummy larfs lots,’ he told his father. ‘Mummy loves me lots. I love Mummy.’

And she was subjected to an affectionate stranglehold. The ice had been broken and Carlo had confirmed the fact that she adored him.

From that moment on, gradually Dante and she grew more natural and spontaneous in their reactions and the atmosphere between them eased.

And their togetherness had a sweet poignancy that was not lost on her. Dante—at the moment—was playing at happy families. She was doing it for real.

By the evening, her emotions were in a tangle. She had loved every minute of her time with Dante and her beloved son. And wished it could be like this all the time because in this make-believe world there were no nightmares, no accusations of infidelity and no lack of love.

Instead, there was fun, laughter and affection. And lovely silly games, she thought in amusement as Dante plotted to ‘chase Mummy’ with Carlo, and began to stalk towards her menacingly.

‘No, help! Help!’ she squealed.

She had let her hair down, literally, and her white-blonde mane streamed out behind her as she dashed barefooted through the hall with Dante and a delighted Carlo in hot pursuit.

Pretending to trip over her flowing silk skirt, she allowed herself to be caught and they all collapsed in a laughing heap on the soft Persian rug.

Carlo flung his arms around her neck in his trademark stranglehold. ‘I ’ove you, Mummy.’

‘I love you too, sweetheart,’ she said tenderly, giving him a kiss.

‘Mummy’s pretty,’ he said proudly, pulling experimentally at her soft coral top and accidentally revealing the lace of her strapless bra. He looked to his father for confirmation.

‘Yes,’ he agreed in a low tone, though she didn’t dare look at him. His voice was seductive enough. ‘Very pretty.’

‘Kiss Daddy!’ Carlo demanded.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Dante’s where he lay winded beside her. This was a bridge too far. Hastily she busied herself with sliding her narrow shoulder straps into place and wriggling the top back down to cover the soft skin of her exposed midriff.

‘Kiss Daddy!’ Carlo repeated, his face puckering anxiously.

She managed to smile in reassurance. Dante was beautifully smooth-shaven, she thought, her heart jerking with love. And devastatingly handsome, particularly now that his bow-tie had come undone in the mêlée and his top button was undone. That, the glimpse of tanned throat and his dishevelled hair just made him more irresistible.

Leaning forward, she kissed him briefly on the cheek and quickly withdrew, too wary of betraying her longing for more. Old habits died hard, she thought, wishing she’d hugged Dante as she’d wanted.

‘No!’ Carlo crossly turned her head back. ‘Like Paolo’s mummy and daddy do!’

‘Silly Mummy,’ Dante murmured and kissed Miranda full on the lips.

She imagined that his mouth lingered a little on hers but then it was gone, leaving her feeling very shaky. She rose with a rustle of silk and hauled Carlo into her arms.

‘I think,’ she declared breathily, in case her son came up with any more intimate gestures that Paolo’s parents might have indulged in, ‘it’s time for your bath and bedtime story.’

‘No—!’

‘Yes!’ they chorused, and exchanged the conspiratorial smiles of parents the world over.

The instinctive communication between them made her feel good. It seemed that Dante’s hostility had melted away after an afternoon and evening of sheer fun.

A child, she thought, can reach parts that nothing else can. And her hopes lifted several notches.

‘I can get to the top of the stairs before you do,’ announced Dante slyly.

‘Can’t!’ yelled Carlo, and set off at a great pace, his face sweetly earnest in his determination, his little legs comically twinkling over the marble floor as they pretended to hurry after him.

It was as if a band of iron was squeezing her heart as she watched him and Dante together. The two males in her life. The two people she loved above everyone else. And she wanted their love more than anything else in the entire world.

She had to really work hard to overcome her reticence if she was to win Dante’s heart. Biting her lip, she started up after them. So many obstacles, she thought soberly, lifting her skirts and taking two stairs at a time. A mountain to climb.

‘I won! I won!’

Carlo’s ecstatic face swam into her vision. A huge kiss was deposited clumsily on her knee and then a small, trusting hand slid into hers.

‘You were very quick,’ she praised, her voice shaky with the depths that her love could reach.

‘Boats,’ he declared simply, drawing her into the bathroom, where Dante, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, was checking the temperature of the water gushing from the tap.

‘Yes, we’ll get the boats in a minute,’ she answered.

She knelt, like Dante, and made to help her son undress but was firmly pushed away.

‘I do it. I do it!’ he insisted.

I love you so much, she thought, watching in fond amusement as he struggled with his clothes. She glanced at Dante and her heart stopped for a moment. There was such adoration in his eyes for Carlo that it brought her near to tears.

Lightly she touched Dante’s arm to show that she felt the same. When he looked at her it seemed that his eyes softened and warmed like dark, swirling chocolate. Her heart raced. He wanted to love her, she felt sure. Wanted to forget the past and, like her, he longed to be sure that these golden moments with Carlo would continue.

To encourage him she psyched herself up to slip her arm around his waist while she assessed the bath water with an expert eye.

‘Deep enough, do you think?’

He kept staring at her. The way he had when they were lovers. Her brain seemed to be doing cartwheels.

‘Deeper than you know,’ he replied softly.

Her head continued to spin. Could he mean…?

‘Up! Up!’ demanded Carlo, pushing his wiry, naked body between them, and Dante let out a hiss of breath then lifted their son into the bath.

She wasn’t sure what was happening to her—or to Dante. But she did know that Carlo was having fun and she and Dante were trying to get soap onto the wriggling child enthusiastically propelling his plastic boats around the choppy bath water.

There was a knock on the door and, just as she planted a kiss on Carlo’s merry mop of curls, Luca stepped into the bathroom.

‘Excuse me,’ he said politely. Then his eyes kindled at the sight of Carlo and Miranda, sinking each other’s boats. He grinned. ‘Er… The contessa’s sister called to say that some of your clothes will be arriving by special messenger.’

‘Oh, good. Thank you.’ Miranda smiled at him as she dropped a protective towel over her crushed-silk skirt. She was delighted that Luca had unbent towards her a little. The power of a child to move men’s hearts! she thought. ‘Hey!’ she protested, when Carlo took advantage of her inattention and craftily sat on her boat. ‘You rascal!’ she cried, pretending to be indignant and making her son collapse into a heap of giggles.

‘I a rascal!’ he declared in glee.

‘And I adore you!’

Miranda kissed his neck enthusiastically and elicited squeals from Carlo with her fake nibbles of his shoulder.

‘’Dore me!’ Dore me!’ Carlo cried.

Luca gave a polite little cough.

‘Sorry!’ Miranda flung him an apologetic grin. ‘I just love bath time.’

‘So do I, Contessa,’ Luca said softly, his eyes warm as he watched Carlo.

‘You have children?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Five. All boys.’

His pride was evident and she beamed to see it.

‘All handsome, all a credit to their parents,’ Dante provided.

Luca’s smile stretched from ear to ear. ‘Thank you, Conte. Allora, I had a further message from your sister, Contessa. She said that she would call you in a day or two to tell you of her purchases in Milan.’

Miranda raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I hope the shops weren’t cleaned out! Lizzie’s never been given her head before.’

‘She was very happy, Contessa,’ Luca murmured tactfully.

‘I’m sure she was! Well thank you for looking after her—’

‘Yes, Luca,’ interrupted Dante. ‘We’re grateful.’ And to Miranda’s surprise, he continued after a slight hesitation, ‘Like you, Lizzie lost her father when she was small, and her mother died when she was twelve. Miranda had her work cut out. But now we will all be Lizzie’s parents, yes?’

The man’s intelligent eyes were thoughtful as they rested on Miranda and she felt he understood what she had endured as the elder child.

‘I understand,’ he said gently, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Yes. We will watch over the young lady when she is here. Goodnight, Conte, Contessa.’

When Luca had slipped quietly away, Miranda put a hand on Dante’s arm. ‘That was nice of you. I hadn’t realised you understood how tough it was for Lizzie.’

‘And for you. I’m not blind, Miranda,’ he answered, adding a little more warm water. He smiled at her. ‘You’ll have to live your childhood through Carlo, since you must have missed so much of your own.’

Their gazes locked and her pulses skittered about crazily. He swallowed, scooped up some suds and blew them at Carlo, then did the same to her. In the ensuing uproar her mind was in turmoil like her blood, which was pumping erratically around her taut body. And Dante’s hands were shaking like hers.

‘Like old times, isn’t it?’ she whispered unfairly.

‘Uh.’

Frowning, he pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead, leaving it wet and frothy from the bubbles. In a tender, wifely gesture, Miranda reached up and flicked the froth away, her face close to his.

For a breathless moment she thought he might kiss her but then he sucked in a sharp rasp of air and busied himself with the soap and Carlo’s grubby knees again.

To contain her urge to fling her arms around Dante and declare her love again, she picked up another bar of soap and attacked Carlo’s neck and back. With every stroke she was chanting feverishly to herself,

‘Dante loves me. He loves me not. Loves me, loves me not…’

‘’Ook, Mummy!’

‘I’m looking, darling!’ she whispered lovingly as Carlo intently soaped his father’s arm.

Small, plump fingers then undid Dante’s dress shirt. Miranda watched in silence, absorbing her son’s touching concentration and Dante’s laughing surrender to Carlo’s solemn attentions.

‘I’m very wet!’ Dante protested to Carlo.

‘I wet too!’ he replied in glee.

‘Well, I think it’s time we both got dry again. I have a new story for you,’ Dante said, hastily mopping up the water that had dripped to his navel.

Miranda tore her gaze away and lifted Carlo out, clean and sparkling. They both dried him, their eyes meeting over his sopping curls as he chattered happily.

On impulse, Miranda hugged her damp son’s body to her, her eyes closing in silent thanks that she could see and touch and love him again. This was worth a million arguments, hours of cold hostility. Whatever Dante felt about her, whatever happened, she would withstand it because of these precious moments.

When she lifted her blurred eyes, blinking her spiky wet lashes, she met the full force of Dante’s intense gaze. And she felt her limbs become watery.

Seeing her weakness, he gently turned Carlo around.

‘I’ll do your pyjamas for you,’ he said softly, reaching for a pair decorated with trains.

Miranda watched as he slowly eased them on her son’s little arms and legs, which were limp with fatigue now, the constant battering of chatter abruptly silenced.

‘Up we go.’

Dante stood up and swung Carlo into his arms. Walking into his bedroom with Miranda following in a dream, he tenderly deposited their son in the great vastness of his bed and snuggled up beside him with a book.

‘Mummy come too.’

Sleepily, Carlo lifted an arm and beckoned Miranda by repeatedly holding his palm flat and then curling his fingers up, a gesture that had always touched her heart.

This was what they had used to do, when Dante was home. ‘A Carlo sandwich,’ she recalled and Dante smiled. Obediently she scrambled up the other side of Carlo with a sensuous whisper of silk.

‘Lovery Mummy,’ Carlo murmured, stroking the material.

Lovely Mummy! It was wonderful to hear those words again. She kissed her son’s soft cheek, awash with love, and he burrowed contentedly between them. She lay there while Dante read the story and Carlo stopped fidgeting and grew steadily limper.

The bed had a lingering fragrance. She inhaled it and the essence of Dante’s male body permeated every part of her being. His arm, slung protectively around Carlo, was touching her. Wanting to maintain that contact, she leaned into it, her cheek sliding against his skin.

Her hand curved around Carlo’s head in a tender caress. She could feel elation rising inside her and risked a glance up at Dante as he read the story. After a moment he met her gaze and faltered, his voice tailing away into a throaty whisper.

‘We would be fools,’ she whispered softly, seeing that Carlo was asleep, ‘to throw all of this away by sticking to a cold-blooded business arrangement.’

He put down the book and in silence he studied Carlo’s small face. Miranda held her breath, knowing he was considering her suggestion. For them both, this child of theirs was so important that they would do anything to make him happy.

Carlo. Adoringly she gazed at him. Twin black fringes lay heavily on the sweet, olive-skinned face. The cupid’s bow mouth was no longer laughing but soft and crumpled in sleep. The energetic bomb of a body had become floppy and heavy. Her heart filled with love.

Slowly Dante eased away and stood up. Without looking at her he said quietly,

‘Time to talk.’

Nerves jangling, she nodded and slid from the bed, following Dante to the door. Then a few feet along the landing he turned, muttering, ‘Baby monitor…’ and as she sidestepped out of the way, so did he. They collided. The rest was a blur.

But she found herself somehow in his arms and his mouth was hard on hers, driving hard as if violent passions were being released.

Fire roared through her body as if she’d been ignited. Everything would be all right! she thought exultantly as his hands pulled her hard to him, echoing her desperate need to feel every inch of him, to be so close that not a hair’s breadth lay between them.

‘Miranda, Miranda!’ he breathed into her eager mouth.

She felt she was soaring to the sky. Her hands locked around his beautiful head and she could feel the clean silk of his hair and smell his familiar smell of subtle vanilla and man.

Her straps were being eased down. His mouth wandered hotly over her naked shoulders, skimming over her skin in tense, passionate kisses. She felt delicate fingers slipping into her lacy bra, his lips exploring the deep V of her cleavage.

She let out a gasp and then a little whimper of pleasure when he lightly touched a straining nipple. Forcing his head up, she kissed him deeply, luxuriating in his expert touch, the fierce stabs of desire, and the hard promise of his body.

At some time she must have torn open his shirt because her hands could now move unhindered over his muscular chest, every inch of which had become familiar to her. And her fingers lingered over his heavily beating heart because it was a miraculous confirmation that he, too, must be experiencing a wild and unstoppable arousal.

Her conscious mind no longer operated. It was as if she was intoxicated by the drug of love. He could make her forget everything when he made love to her. She had no will of her own, only a pagan drive to become part of him.

Fiercely demanding, she pushed him against the wall and pressed herself harder against the contours of his body, moving in the sinuous way that always made him lose control.

Almost immediately he bucked and groaned, lifting her skirts and curving his hands beneath her taut buttocks to lift her up.

Wantonly she tucked her naked legs around his waist and pulled off her top. As she did so, Dante buried his mouth in her breasts, his fingers busy with the fastening of her bra.

She took his face between her hands and kissed him with slow and tender passion, shuddering when the lace barrier had been removed and they were skin to skin.

Her senses were filled with him, her heart hammering loudly in her ears.

‘I love you! I love you!’ she breathed.

And then he froze. Jerked back, a stunned expression on his face.

She shouldn’t have said that! She’d scared him away! Wide-eyed, she stared at him as he slowly lowered her to the ground, his eyes black and fathomless.

Her skirts fell back into place with a sensual whisper but it was lost on Dante. He was going to reject her and call her a sex-crazed harlot, she thought hysterically. And felt a feral wail of misery and frustration rise up within her.