by Sara Wood
‘No!’ He looked shocked. ‘I couldn’t trust you to care for him properly. Besides, Carlo will inherit from me. The business. The silk mills, the outlets, the offices around the world. This estate. The flat in Milan, the villa on the Veneto and the house in Antigua. To say nothing of the fortune behind it all. He needs to know how to handle wealth. How to run the business—’
‘He’s only three!’ she wailed, stunned by the extent of Dante’s inheritance. Suddenly she felt out of her depth. Dante had the whip hand.
‘And if he grows up here, he will learn naturally how to deal with people. He will learn that power brings responsibility and carries with it a sense of duty,’ Dante snapped. ‘One day he will be Il Conte Severini. He must not shame the name and blunder about helplessly because he doesn’t know how to behave. Or do you want your son to be disinherited and for my brother, Guido, to take his place?’
She shuddered at the mention of Guido’s name but didn’t know why. There was a foul taste in her mouth suddenly. All her instincts were railing against Guido inheriting Carlo’s birthright.
‘You’re asking a lot of me. Let me think,’ she said weakly. ‘Please! It’s such an important step. We’d be committed to living a lie for the rest of our lives!’
It seemed a prison sentence. But she knew in her heart of hearts that she would do anything for her child…even this, if she could come up with no other solution.
Her head ached. Frowning, she rubbed at her temple, knowing she needed privacy to work things out. To come to terms with her frightening future.
Slowly she lifted her head and gazed at Dante with huge, tear-washed eyes, her mouth trembling with misery and fatigue.
He seemed remote, the honeyed skin taut over his cheekbones, his lips no longer curved in a sensual arch but pressed into a hard, grim line. He would never relent, she thought in desperation, and felt like weeping at her defeat.
‘Please, Dante! Give me time!’ she whispered again.
There was no indication in his face that he recognised this, not even when two huge, crystal teardrops squeezed from each corner of her eyes. As she saw his stony expression, the granite of his jaw, her whole body drooped. She was hanging on by a thread and he didn’t give a damn.
‘As you wish,’ he said in an uncharacteristic rasp. Perhaps he was angry that she hadn’t agreed immediately, and was trying to conceal his rage, she thought dully. ‘Perhaps some fresh air will help. I will show you the way to the garden, where you can consider my offer. You’ve got an hour. No longer.’
Again that jerky walk. A shaking hand on the doorknob that betrayed his tension. Puzzled, she wondered just how badly Dante wanted to ‘keep up appearances’. Presumably it had been pointed out to him that it was not proper for him to be married and to live apart from his wife. Maybe the Italian aristocracy would frown on divorce.
If so, she thought tiredly, following him down the stairs, she had a small advantage. Perhaps she could push through some alterations to his ruthless plan…
‘Darling!’
Already heading for the back of the hall, they both whirled at the trilling cry. Miranda saw that the tall, elegant figure of Dante’s mother stood in the open doorway, framed against the sunlight, her arms held out in a typically generous welcome.
‘Sonniva!’ Miranda said in surprise. And to her horror, she gave a little choking cry.
‘My dear! Oh, you poor darling!’ crooned Sonniva, clacking rapidly across the chequered marble.
And then Miranda was enveloped in silken arms, the bird-like body grasping her with surprising energy, two gentle hands stroking and soothing her as if she were a child.
‘O, povera piccolina! You poor little one! How glad I am to see you,’ Dante’s mother murmured, great wafts of Paradiso perfume drifting enticingly into Miranda’s senses. ‘It must have been so hard, being in an isolation hospital and not allowed to see your own husband and child! I’m thrilled you’re better now. But you look so thin!’ she chided, taking Miranda’s startled face between her palms. ‘And pale! Dante! She is still not well. We must look after you. Red wine and chocolates, yes?’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘The fever. All is well now? The hospital has let you go and you are here to stay?’
She took a deep breath, feeling wrecked. Her eyes slipped to Dante. She was shocked to see how alarmed he looked. So that was the story—that she’d been in hospital with a dangerously contagious illness. What a liar he was!
‘Miranda, darling!’ crooned Sonniva in concern. ‘You look…how do I say it?…. dazed. Dante, she is staying, isn’t she? Oh, he’s been such a bear without you! And I couldn’t bear little Carlo to cry so pitifully for his mama again!’
‘You’re exaggerating, Mama—’ Dante began.
But the damage was done. ‘Oh, dear heaven!’ Miranda whispered, utterly broken by Sonniva’s final sentence. She drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Yes. Yes. I’m staying.’
Dante’s relief was palpable. She was aware of the relaxing of his muscles, one by one, and knew that she must do everything in her power to prove to him that she had been wrongfully accused. Or her life would be an utter hell.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I WILL collect Carlo for you,’ Sonniva said decisively. ‘Dante has done his best to be a mother and father while you’ve been in hospital, you can be sure, Miranda. He has been so attentive, so loving to our little darling. To cheer him up today, Dante arranged a little entertainment after nursery—a trip on the train, a fun party with some friends and a garden full of…come si dice?’ she asked, turning to the impassive Dante.
‘Bouncy castles and play equipment,’ he provided. ‘Thank you, Mama. I’d be glad if you will collect him from his friends in Cadenabbia. Miranda will have a chance to rest before Carlo returns.’
‘And you two can be together. What a thrill for you! Allora. You can “rest” with her, Dante, yes? But don’t exhaust her. See you in a while, darlings.’
With her eyes twinkling mischievously, Sonniva blew kisses and breezed out.
‘Thank you,’ Dante said hoarsely.
‘For what? Helping you to lie to your own mother? How low will you stoop, Dante?’ she asked with contempt.
‘For my son, I will do anything,’ he muttered.
Yes. She had the impression he would. She leaned tiredly against a marble pillar, her head feeling as if it might burst.
‘So I have discovered. How long before Carlo is here?’
‘My mother will drive to the car ferry to cross the lake, then it’s a short drive to my friend’s house. By the time she’s eased Carlo from the party and made the return trip…say an hour or a little longer.’
She nodded. ‘I do need a few moments to myself. I’d like to lie down. Where can I crash out?’
‘Your bedroom—’
‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d never wake up. Somewhere comfortable where I can curl up in an armchair.’
‘The library, then,’ he said at once. ‘No one will disturb you there and you can use the sofa. Shall I—?’
‘No!’ He had extended an arm, as if to support her. She shrank from his touch and said stiffly, ‘Point me in the right direction.’
‘Of course.’
At least he seemed to have realised that she’d scream if he pawed her, or scolded her any more. She badly needed to be left in peace for a while, to chew over what she’d taken on.
But she stumbled and his hand shot out to stop her from falling. For a moment she hovered dangerously close to him, every cell in her body begging her to fall into his arms, and then he was pushing her along impatiently as if he, too, wanted nothing more than to be free and alone.
Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a high-pitched voice she recognised.
‘Lizzie!’ She groaned in dismay.
‘I’ll deal with her. She can stay the night then I’ll put her on the next flight back first thing in the morning.’
‘I should speak to her…’ Miranda chewed her lip guiltily. ‘I’ll need to
explain—’
‘Leave a note,’ he advised. ‘Let me handle her. If I stuff money into her bag I’m sure she’ll be co-operative. I’ll get Guido to meet her flight in London. He’ll smooth things over.’
Miranda winced at his contempt for Lizzie but knew he was right. And she really couldn’t face her sister. Later she’d invite her over and give her a nice time.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and allowed herself to be led into the library, where she scrawled a hasty note and handed it to Dante.
Her gaze scanned the walls of books, tiers upon tiers of them in carved bookshelves, which stretched right up to the high, carved ceiling. The volumes were nearly all leather-bound and were probably valuable antiques.
It seemed that every detail of the house underlined Dante’s newly acquired wealth and power. Everywhere she looked—the gilded furniture, fine porcelain, the crystal chandeliers, the frescoed ceiling—she discovered further evidence of the Severini heritage. And Carlo would own this one day.
Her job would be to keep him human. Normal. To know more than this world with its rarefied atmosphere. Yes. She had an important role to play. And Dante had better accept that.
She reached the soft cream sofa and her body sank into its welcoming depths with relief. Pulling a handful of silk cushions towards her, she arranged them comfortably behind her aching back and kicked off her shoes.
Without a word, Dante poured her a glass of water from a crystal decanter, handed it to her, then walked quietly away, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. Leaving her in the hushed, muffled silence.
Now she could flop. Every bone in her body felt as if it might crack. Her muscles ached from being held in tension. Limply she raised a hand and lightly massaged her forehead, then held the cold glass against her throbbing temples.
What a dramatic turn her life had taken! It was almost unbelievable. She was to live here, to all intents and purposes the count’s wife. La contessa!
Her eyes closed in dismay. Acting out a charade would be hard enough, but to be isolated in a foreign country…
‘Heaven help me!’ she whispered. ‘Give me strength, for Carlo’s sake!’
She quailed at the daunting prospect. To enable her to cope she would negotiate her own rules with Dante. Invite friends over. Make a life of her own.
Dante would not rule her with an iron fist. Carlo must see at first hand that marriage was a partnership. The last thing she wanted was for her own son to see her as inferior—or for him to grow up with the same attitude to women as his father.
She vowed that Carlo would learn that women were to be treated with respect. That they must be loved for their individuality and not treated as a convenience.
She made a wry face. What was she doing? He was only just three years old! And yet, she thought more soberly, he would undoubtedly pick up his future attitudes from the cradle.
Her teeth snagged at her lip. When Carlo had been spirited away, he’d had a sweet and loving nature. She prayed that he hadn’t suffered any long-term damage and that they could rebuild any feelings of abandonment and insecurity.
Given Dante’s total commitment, they probably could. She would talk to Dante and they’d draw a line under the past two weeks. In Carlo they had a combined interest. They could live a civilised life. They must, for their son’s emotional well-being.
Thinking of her son’s small, sunny face, she gave a blissful smile. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she whispered passionately. ‘See you soon, very soon!’ And with her nerves calmed by this reassuring thought, she drifted off to sleep.
It was dark when she woke. A small glow of light from the moon silvered the gleaming marble floor so that it looked like a vast lake.
Immediately she sat up in alarm. Night? The luminous dial on her watch told her it was ten o’clock.
Her entire body froze. She’d slept for four hours. And Dante had not kept his promise to bring Carlo to her! She let out a wail of dismay.
Without stopping to put on her shoes, she ran through the faintly lit room and into the corridor that led to the hall, her hair falling from its pins and flying loose around her frantic face like a silky white curtain.
‘Dante!’ she yelled in fury and panic. ‘Dante!’
There came the sound of a man’s feet, running. The door to a brightly lit room burst open and Dante came hurrying out, frowning deeply.
‘Miranda! Hush! What is it?’ he demanded, coming to a sudden halt a foot away from her.
‘Carlo!’ she jerked brokenly and could say nothing else.
At the mention of his son’s name, his features softened. ‘Asleep. Do you want to see him?’ he asked in an almost gentle tone.
Emotion had claimed her vocal cords. Mutely she nodded, her eyes huge and misty.
‘I thought… I thought…’ she said, sounding strangled.
‘I know,’ he said tightly. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘If you’re playing a trick on me, I’ll make you sorry you were born!’ she muttered.
He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you would.’
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she demanded fretfully as he led her to the grand staircase.
‘There was no point,’ Dante explained stiffly. ‘After the hours of activity and excitement, he fell asleep in my mother’s car on the way back.’
‘That’s no reason not to wake me! I wouldn’t have cared! Just to see his face…’
The words became choked with disappointment and she had to stop.
‘I did come in to tell you he was home,’ he said quietly. ‘But you looked very peaceful in your sleep. You were—’ he frowned ‘—smiling. And yet you had an air of exhaustion. I did not have the heart to wake you. I’m sorry if it was the wrong decision, but my mother agreed that another night wouldn’t make much difference, and that both of you needed to rest.’
‘Because of my illness,’ Miranda muttered mutinously, sweeping her hair behind her ears.
She trembled a little. It gave her an odd feeling to know that he’d watched her sleeping.
‘I’m sorry about that, I should have warned you about the story I’d invented to cover your absence, but I wasn’t expecting Mama to turn up,’ he explained. ‘When I left England so unexpectedly with Carlo I didn’t know what to tell her—or anyone else for that matter. I couldn’t bring myself to reveal the truth.’ His face darkened. ‘Whatever happened, I didn’t want our child to discover one day how badly you had behaved. So I lied while I worked out what to do for the best.’
‘You didn’t lie to your chauffeur.’ She looked him directly in the eye.
‘How do you know that?’
‘The way he treated me. Without respect.’
‘I will speak to Luca. My chauffeur,’ Dante said quietly.
‘Do that. What exactly did you tell him?’ she demanded.
‘The bare minimum. Luca drove Carlo and me from Malpensa—Milan Airport—after…after I found you that evening,’ Dante replied in a low tone. ‘He knew I was in a terrible state. Kept Carlo amused with songs and stories. Fed me coffee and brandy, bought a toy for Carlo at the service station on the Autostrada to entertain him. Somehow I let slip that you’d been unfaithful.’
‘Dante! How could you?’ she cried in dismay.
He frowned. ‘He is one of the few I trust—apart from Guido, of course—who wouldn’t dream of tarnishing the family honour with any revelations. As far as Luca is concerned, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut, but I wasn’t in full possession of my senses,’ he said tightly. ‘But he’ll say nothing, for my sake. His father worked for mine. Luca has been my European driver since he left school and is totally loyal and reliable. He won’t even have said anything to his wife. You can be sure of that.’
And she’d speak to Luca, too, she vowed. Put her side of the story.
Dante opened a massive carved door at the top of the stairs and politely stood to one side in a gesture that still made her feel cherished. Luca forgotten, Miranda smiled in anticipation
, her eyes searching the darkened room within as she stepped breathlessly into the room. Dante softly closed the door behind them.
A small lamp glowed by the bed, its soft light illuminating…
She frowned, staring at the vast canopied four-poster, elaborately decorated. Rich brocade hangings.
Her senses alerted, she quickly scanned the bedroom. It was very masculine, despite the elegant eighteenth-century furniture. Seeing Dante’s honey-coloured silk robe on a chair, she stopped breathing.
No sign of Carlo. This wasn’t a child’s room at all. Almost certainly it belonged to Dante himself. And why would he bring her to his bedroom…?
In a fury she whirled around. ‘You rat! Let me out—!’
She didn’t finish the sentence. Dante had caught her arms in warning.
‘Be quiet!’ he whispered fiercely. ‘You’ll wake him!’
Before she could gather her wits, she found herself being pushed towards the bed. Her head whirled. She felt strangely dizzy. It was as if she were in a time warp; those hands holding her—though she remembered them as being more brutal—and a sense of being trapped and helpless…
‘There! Now will you believe me?’ Dante muttered.
Despite the rising terror, she blinked away the fog and focused. The fear vanished in an instant when she saw the dark head of her sleeping child.
‘Carlo!’ she whispered. Dante released her. She ran to the bed and knelt in a fever of joy. ‘Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you!’ she breathed, somehow holding back her intense longing to catch up her son and crush him in her arms. He looked utterly content, the long black lashes settling thickly on his baby cheeks, the rosebud mouth pursed in sleep. ‘Mummy’s here,’ she said, choked. Maybe in his dreams he’d hear what she was saying. ‘Mummy’s come back.’
Tentatively she reached out an alarmingly shaky hand and touched the chubby little arm clad in the dinosaur pyjamas with dinosaur buttons which she’d bought for him shortly before he’d disappeared. Carlo sighed and then he smiled his creamy smile.
Speech was beyond her. Miranda’s own face lit up with a soft radiance because she imagined that he really did know she was close by. And her heart melted completely when his mouth began making little sucking noises as if he were still at her breast.