‘You knew I would want to take the dress off myself,’ he agreed, and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Mille grazie, tesoro.’
‘You’re welcome! Will you undo my buttons, please?’
Dante heaved in a deep breath. ‘Dio, Rose, my hands are unsteady and you have many buttons.’
‘Exactly the same number as last time.’
‘I do not remember undoing so many!’
‘You didn’t undo any.’ Rose turned her head to meet his eyes. ‘I was so eager I did it myself.’
Dante breathed in sharply and buried his face against her neck. ‘This time,’ he said through his teeth, ‘even though I want you more than my next breath, I will do it, innamorata.’ He began undoing the tiny satin-covered buttons with speed and dexterity which quickly sent the dress into a heap of caramel chiffon at Rose’s feet, and he snatched her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, his eyes dancing as he saw the blue silk garter above one knee.
‘My something blue,’ she said breathlessly.
Dante slid the garter down her leg and took it off to put in his pocket, then, with maddeningly slow care, removed her stockings and the satin underwear that had cost almost as much as her dress. He looked at her in simmering silence for a moment and then, careless of finest designer tailoring, tore off the rest of his clothes. He pulled her to her feet beside the bed to hold her close and kissed her parted mouth. ‘I want you so much, Rose,’ he whispered.
Not exactly what she wanted to hear, but for now it was enough because she wanted him just as much.
He bent to pull back the covers on the bed. ‘I can wait no longer, sposa mia.’ He picked her up and gave a purring growl of pleasure as they came together in the bed, skin to skin.
Rose melted against him, luxuriating in contact with the lean, muscular body that to her eyes could have been a model for one of the sculptures she’d seen in Florence. When she told him this between kisses Dante stared at her in astonishment for a moment, then saw by the look in her eyes that she meant every word and kissed her hard on her parted, eager mouth before his lips joined with his seeking hands in a glissando of caresses that transformed her entire body into a trembling erogenous zone.
‘I know it sounds silly,’ she gasped, ‘but this feels new, as though we’d never made love before.’
‘We have not done so for an entire endless month, and never as man and wife,’ he whispered, and positioned his taut, aroused body between her thighs. ‘Now, tesoro!’
Rose clasped Dante close, her inner muscles caressing the hard length of him as he thrust home into her welcoming heat. He kissed her endlessly, murmuring passionate loving words into her ear as his caressing hands and demanding body drew such a wild response. As he possessed her she stifled a scream when the almost unbearable rapture of her orgasm overwhelmed her a second or two before Dante gave a triumphant groan and surrendered to his own.
They lay together afterwards in a boneless tangle of arms and legs, Dante’s face buried in her hair.
‘A good thing the other guests are all staying at the Hermitage,’ said Rose at last. ‘Sorry I was so noisy, Dante.’
He raised his head, his eyes blazing down into hers with pride. ‘It is the greatest compliment you could pay me, tesoro. I feel like a king to know I gave you pleasure!’
‘Did I give you pleasure?’
‘Pleasure,’ he said with feeling, ‘is not a big enough word. I have made love to other women in my life. You know that. But with you there is rapture I have never experienced before.’ He frowned. ‘You are crying, tesoro?’
She sniffed hard. ‘That was such a beautiful thing to say, Dante.’ But still not quite the words she longed to hear.
‘It is the truth,’ he assured her and with a sigh of contentment turned on his back to pull her close. ‘I hope our little angel sleeps well tonight.’
To her shame, Rose’s pleasure dimmed a little after Dante’s attention reverted so swiftly to his daughter. ‘Since she’s safe in Tom’s house with my mother, and Charlotte and Fabio are there, too, Bea will be fine.’ She smiled up into his relaxed, handsome face as she stroked the slim, strong hand now adorned with a wedding ring, something, he’d informed her, he’d refused to wear during his former marriage. ‘It’s time I let you into a little secret. Everyone thinks I named her Beatrice for my grandmother, and in one way this is true, but it was also my own private little joke.’
‘Joke?’ Dante looked down at her in question.
‘Beatrice was the love of your poet, Dante Alighieri, so I named my baby for her as my secret connection to you.’
A look of pain swept over his face. ‘Ah, Rose, if I had known!’
‘If you had you couldn’t have done anything about it at the time, but I thought you’d like to know now we’re married.’
‘I do like it very much.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘It is much happier than the revelation given to me on my first wedding night.’
Rose took in a deep breath. ‘Talking of revelations, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give you another one.’
‘You have a buyer for the house?’
‘No, something far more important than that.’ She propped herself on one elbow to look into his face. ‘We’re going to have another baby, Dante. It must have happened the night you came back after our quarrel...’ Her voice trailed away as he shot upright, eyes narrowed as they speared hers. He gazed at her in silence for so long Rose felt cold. ‘Say something, Dante, please!’
‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘this is why you agree to marry me. You had many doubts about giving up your independence and your home and job here in England, then suddenly you say yes and I do not question it. I thought you had changed your mind because, like a fool, I believed you wanted me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But it was only because you were incinta again.’
‘No, Dante, that’s not true, or at least not totally. I’ll admit that it was the final, deciding factor.’ She flushed miserably. ‘I already had one fatherless child. It was a shock to find I was about to produce another.’
‘Neither child is fatherless,’ he snapped. ‘They are both mine. But why did you not tell me until now? Were you afraid I would cancel the wedding? You think I could do such a thing to Bea?’ Dante flung out of bed to make for the bathroom.
Just once, thought Rose bitterly, it would have been good for Dante to think of her first, before Bea. Petty it might be, but on this particular night it would have been the perfect wedding gift.
Her nudity suddenly embarrassing, Rose opened the suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed and got into the ivory silk nightgown Charlotte had given her. She wrapped herself in the matching dressing gown and tied the sash tightly, wincing as her headache suddenly returned in full force. She should have kept her secret to herself, at least for tonight. With a sigh, she perched on the edge of the bed to wait. When Dante finally came out wearing one of the hotel bath robes, he sat beside her, leaving a space between them, she noted with a sinking heart.
‘So, Rose,’ he demanded, his voice stern, ‘I ask again. Why did you not tell me sooner?’
Suddenly furious, she shot him a flaying look. ‘Because I was naïve enough to keep the news as a wedding present to you—a sort of consolation prize to make up for your previous wedding night. So if anyone’s a fool, Dante, it’s me!’ She jumped up and marched into the bathroom, then slammed the bolt home on the door.
‘Rose!’ ordered Dante hotly. ‘Come back to me. Now!’
Rose gulped, feeling first hot then icy cold as she dropped to her knees and parted with what little wedding breakfast she’d eaten. Tears poured down her face as she cursed the fate which scheduled her first bout of morning sickness for tonight of all nights. Shivering and miserable, she ignored the banging on the door until Dante threatened to break it down.
‘Dio, Rose!�
�� he exclaimed when she staggered to her feet to let him in. He stared in horror at her ashen, sweating face. ‘What is wrong?’
‘What could possibly be wrong?’ she flung at him. ‘I’ve been sick, I’m pregnant again and, just like the first time, I don’t want to be. Go away!’ she spat in desperation, but Dante ignored her. He mopped her gently with a damp facecloth and picked her up to carry her back to bed.
He laid her down gently. ‘Lie very still, Rose.’ He took her hand. ‘What can I do for you? Would you like water, or I can ring for tea—’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘Of course I have to,’ he said roughly, his grasp tightening.
‘I meant,’ she said wearily, ‘that you needn’t ring for room service. There’s a tea tray with a kettle and so on over on the table by the sofa. You can make the tea for me.’
The relief in Dante’s eyes was so gratifying she warmed towards him slightly.
‘You will trust me to make it correctly, Rose?’
‘Yes. But not yet. I’ll have a glass of water first, please.’
Dante helped her to sit up, then piled pillows behind her and settled her against them with care. ‘You feel better now?’
Rose nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
His lips tightened. ‘You need not thank me so politely. I am happy to do anything to help you.’
Except tell her he loved her. ‘I’ll have that water now, then.’
‘Subito!’ Dante said promptly. He filled a glass with mineral water and sat on the bed beside her, watching her sip very slowly. ‘You have been suffering much with la nausea, Rose?’
‘No. This is the first time tonight.’ She pulled a face and put the half-empty glass on the bedside table. ‘Bad move to get morning sickness on our wedding night.’
Dante winced. ‘I think perhaps it was I who made you ill, not our baby.’
Slightly mollified when he said ‘our baby’, Rose shrugged. ‘Possibly. Your reaction to my news wasn’t quite the one I expected.’
‘Mi dispiace!’ he said and took her hand. ‘Coming so soon after experiencing such rapture together, I was not thinking clearly.’
‘You sounded pretty clear on the subject to me. But let’s not talk about it any more. Perhaps you could make that tea for me now?’
Dante got up at once and crossed the room to switch on the kettle. ‘Allora,’ he said, ‘I pour the boiling water on the tea bag, leave it for a little while, then remove the bag and add a little milk. Yes?’
Rose nodded. ‘Exactly right.’
‘Bene.’ Dante went through the process with care and finally brought a steaming cup over to Rose.
‘Thank you.’ She eyed him over it. ‘Not quite the wedding night you’d hoped for, is it?’
He gestured towards the sofa under the window. ‘You would prefer me to sleep there tonight?’
‘Of course not,’ she retorted. ‘I assume you intend me to share your room at the Villa Castiglione?’
Dante’s eyes locked on hers. ‘My room and my bed,’ he stated in tones which left her in no doubt.
‘Then we may as well start as we mean to go on. Besides,’ she added, eyeing the sofa, ‘you’ll never fit on that.’
‘Davvero! But I was happy to make the attempt tonight to let you rest.’
‘Very noble, but no sacrifice required.’ Rose slid carefully out of bed, stood for a moment to make sure she was steady on her feet, then made for the bathroom. ‘Just give me five minutes to brush my teeth.’
When she got back Dante had tidied the bed and left only one lamp burning. He looked at her searchingly. ‘Were you ill again?’
‘No. I think that was a one-off just now—at least for tonight.’ She untied her sash and slid the dressing gown off into his waiting hands. ‘That bed looks very inviting,’ she told him, suddenly almost too tired to speak as she slid into bed.
He drew the covers over her. ‘I will be minutes only, Rose.’
It seemed like only seconds before Dante switched off the lamp and got in beside her. He hesitated for a moment, then lay flat on his back and took her hand. ‘Buonanotte, sposa mia,’ he said softly.
‘Good night, Dante.’ Rose closed her eyes thankfully, well aware that he’d wanted to put his arms round her and hold her close, but had opted for hand-holding instead. Good move, she approved hazily. His unexpected reaction to her news had cut deep. Any attempt at cuddling by Dante right now would have met with short shrift.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE RETURN TO the Villa Castiglione the next day was physically far less of an ordeal than Rose had expected. When she woke up she felt a moment of panic when she heard Dante in the bathroom, but then relaxed when she found that her digestive system was in good working order. No dash to the bathroom was necessary. When her new husband emerged, towelling his wet curls, he eyed her searchingly.
‘Buongiorno, Rose. How do you feel today?’
‘Good morning. I feel better, thank you.’
‘No nausea?’
She gave it some thought. ‘None at all.’
He relaxed visibly. ‘Grazie a Dio. You gave me much worry last night. But be truthful, Rose—are you well enough to travel today?’
‘Yes, definitely.’ Postponing the trip, even by a day, would mean explanations to her mother she would rather avoid right now. And a second round of goodbyes would be bad for Bea—and herself, if it came to that. Rose slid out of bed and stood up, shaking her head as he moved swiftly, ready to help her. ‘I’m fine, Dante, really. After a shower I’ll feel even better. What time do we leave?’
‘At ten. I will order breakfast.’ He put an arm round her. ‘What would you like?’
‘Just toast and tea, please.’ She detached herself very deliberately. ‘I won’t be long.’
Dante stood back, his eyes sombre. ‘You have not forgiven me.’
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’ Rose busied herself with choosing clothes to take into the bathroom with her.
‘You are shy of dressing in front of me?’ he demanded.
She turned in the bathroom doorway. ‘Awkward, rather than shy. I’m not used to sharing my life with a man, Dante. You’ll have to make allowances.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Then, to avoid further awkwardness for you, I will dress while you shower.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose closed the bathroom door and got to work, grateful to Dante for not pointing out that there had been no awkwardness last night when he was undressing her. But today, illogically, it would have been hard to put her clothes on in front of him in the new intimacy of married life—which was something she had to get over pretty quickly to make that life successful, if only for Bea’s sake. She patted her stomach gently. For you, too, she added. After all, compared with life as a single mother, she was living the dream as Dante’s wife. His physical response to her, at least, was everything she could wish for. She would just have to work on changing that into the more cerebral love she felt for him. Not that hers was totally cerebral. Otherwise she wouldn’t be expecting his second child. Whatever her brain felt about Dante, her hormones were utterly mad about him.
The limousine trip to the airport and the flight to Pisa went just as smoothly as the first time with Dante in charge. Worried beforehand that the nausea would return en route at some stage, Rose survived the entire flight without a qualm, and to reassure Dante even ate some of the meal.
As before, Tullio was waiting at the airport and had taken time out of his Sunday to help them collect their luggage and hand over the car keys.
‘Congratulazione, Signora Fortinari,’ he said to Rose and kissed her hand then shook Dante’s and congratulated him in turn.
‘Grazie, Tullio,’ she said, secretly thrilled to bits with her new title.
After a quick exch
ange with Tullio while he helped load their luggage into the waiting car, Dante helped Rose into the car and, with a quick wave for his assistant, joined the traffic leaving the airport.
‘I will not drive fast,’ Dante assured her, smiling, and Rose laughed.
‘Unlike my—our—daughter, I don’t mind fast!’
‘Nevertheless, I have no wish to make you ill again, carina.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘I asked Silvia to prepare the house and leave food for us, but then take a little holiday so we can begin our new life in peace together. But,’ he added when Rose made no response, ‘if you want her to come as usual I shall call her back.’
‘Of course I don’t. When Mum and Tom bring Bea to join us, peace will be hard to come by.’ She shot him a wry glance. ‘Though I know you can hardly wait!’
He shook his head. ‘Much as I love Bea, it will be good for us to have time alone together for a little while, Rose, yes?’
Yes, she rejoiced silently.
‘And after a while perhaps you will not feel so awkward with me,’ he said with a wry twist to his mouth.
‘I’ll do my best, Dante.’
‘I do not doubt this,’ he assured her, and smiled as he saw her eyelids droop.
‘Sorry,’ she said, yawning.
‘Take the little nap, bella. I will wake you when we are near home.’
Home, thought Rose, closing her eyes. Not Willow House any more, but the Villa Castiglione. Her lips curved. It would be good to be alone there with Dante for a while...
She woke with a start to a screeching, crunching sound, her heart pounding as something hit the car. Cursing violently, Dante stood on the brakes and her head hit the side window with a crack that knocked her out for an instant.
Rose came round almost at once because Dante was crushing her hand as he called her name in anguish, along with a flood of impassioned enquiries she couldn’t understand.
‘Answer me, Rose!’ he demanded frantically. ‘Where are you hurt?’
‘Only my head,’ she said groggily. ‘What happened?’
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