THE ITALIAN DUKE’S WIFE

by Пенни Джордан

  amoral, shallow and selfish cheats.

  What am I doing? Jodie asked herself wryly. Surely

  she wasn’t actually feeling sympathy for Lorenzo?

  As she watched Caterina walk away, Jodie told herself

  that it was a good job she was not marrying

  Lorenzo for love.

  Jodie turned to look at the granite hulk of the Castillo

  walls. She was alone in the garden now, Caterina apparently

  having grown tired of issuing her dark warnings.

  She would not have entered an unwanted marriage

  in order to possess such a place, Jodie thought

  wryly, but she was not Lorenzo. It must be a matter

  of family pride to him that he was its master.

  She tensed as she heard footsteps on the gravel,

  recognising them immediately as Lorenzo’s. A tiny

  feathering of sensation started to uncurl slowly inside

  her: a potent blend of danger, excitement, and challenge

  pumped intoxicatingly throughout her whole

  body by the jerky, speeded-up bursts of her heartbeat.

  It was reassuring to compare what she was feeling

  now with the emotions and sensations she had felt

  when she had first met John. The two reactions had

  nothing in common, and therefore this feeling she had

  now was not a sign that she was in any way attracted

  to Lorenzo.

  "I saw Caterina speaking with you earlier. Tell me

  what she was saying."

  It was typical of him, of course, that he should not

  only make such a demand but actually expect it to be

  met — as though he had the right to question her, and

  also to be answered.

  Jodie answered him as bluntly. "She told me that

  you were lovers."

  "And what else?" he demanded, refusing to react.

  Jodie shrugged her shoulders. "Only that you would

  do anything to gain possession of the Castillo — but

  then I already knew that. And that your mother deserted

  you and your father when you were a small

  child — which of course I did not."

  Now she had the reaction she had not had before.

  Immediately Lorenzo’s expression hardened. "My

  childhood is in the past and has no bearing on either

  the present or the future."

  He was wrong about that, Jodie decided. It was

  obvious from the way he was reacting that his childhood

  held painful issues which had never been resolved.

  "How is your leg? I noticed that you were rubbing

  it earlier, when Alfredo was here."

  What had motivated that comment? Concern for

  her? Or a deliberate attempt to change the subject?

  Jodie knew which she believed was the more likely

  reason, but that wasn’t enough to stop her answering

  him.

  "that’s just a…a habit I have. It doesn’t mean…

  My leg’s fine." She was behaving in as flustered a

  manner as though he had paid her some kind of unexpected

  compliment, she realised angrily. John’s rejection

  might have battered her self-esteem, but it certainly

  hadn’t reduced her to the pathetic state where

  she was grateful to a man for asking after her health!

  But Lorenzo’s comment had reminded her of something

  she knew she had to do.

  And now was probably a good time to do it, she

  thought, since the fading light meant that Lorenzo

  wouldn’t be able to see her red face.

  "I–I owe you an apology," she told him abruptly.

  "I realise from what Alfredo said that I was wrong to

  suggest that you knew nothing about the horrors

  of war."

  "You are apologising to me for an error of judgement?"

  Jodie risked a quick glance up at him through the

  indigo-tinted evening air, and discovered that the

  downward curve of his mouth was revealing the same

  cynical disbelief she could hear in his voice.

  "Yes, I am," she said. "But if you’d told me about

  your aid work in the first place, I wouldn’t have

  needed to, would I?"

  "Ah, I thought so. I’ve yet to meet any woman who

  will genuinely admit that she could be to blame for

  anything."

  "that’s the most ridiculous exaggeration I have

  ever heard!" Jodie objected immediately. "It’s like

  saying that—"

  "That You’re never going to trust another man because

  one man has let you down?" Lorenzo suggested

  silkily.

  "No! that’s a personal decision I’ve made about

  my own future. It doesn’t mean — and I have never

  said — that all men can’t be trusted. Maybe you should

  look more closely at why you think the way you do,

  instead of making unfounded accusations against my

  sex!" she told him recklessly.

  "That was an apology?" Lorenzo said derisively.

  She felt so tempted to tell him that she had changed

  her mind, and he would have to find someone else to

  help him to secure his wretched Castillo. But her determination

  to salve her pride with the possession of

  a husband to replace the one she had so humiliatingly

  lost was stubbornly refusing to let her do so. She

  would withstand whatever she had to in order to enjoy

  the sweet satisfaction of seeing John and Louise’s expression

  when she introduced them to her "husband".

  She didn’t want revenge, or money — such negative

  aspirations were empty and worthless — but she so

  badly did want the ego-boosting experience of seeing

  everyone’s faces when she turned up at the wedding

  with Lorenzo.

  With a handsome, multi-millionaire, titled husband

  at her side, no one was going to pity her, or glance

  at her leg when they thought she wasn’t looking, or

  whisper about her, explaining who she was and what

  had happened. Yes, it was shallow. Yes, it was foolish.

  Yes, a part of her felt ashamed that she should

  give in to such a need. But she was still going to do

  it. And if it turned out that she ended up upstaging

  the bride? Tough!

  A small shiver of shocked awareness of her own

  growing strength tingled over her skin. Two months

  ago she had been so low she couldn’t even have contemplated

  feeling like this. Who knew what she could

  achieve once the wedding was behind her? She could

  begin a whole new life, a life doing the things she

  wanted to do, without having to worry about pleasing

  any man ever again.

  "What are you hoping for? That he will turn round

  at the altar, see you and leave her?" Lorenzo demanded

  harshly.

  Jodie stared at him and blurted out, "How did you

  know I was thinking about John?"

  "There is a certain look in your eyes when you do

  so."

  "Well, You’re wrong," she fibbed. "I wasn’t thinking

  about him. I was thinking about what I am going to

  do in the future. I wasn’t well enough to go to university,

  or to train to do anything after the accident,

  but there is nothing to stop me doing so now."

  "Most admirable," Lorenzo said, making it clear

  that he found her mission st
atement for the future anything

  but. "Now, if we Don’t go in soon Maria will

  be coming to warn us that it is time for dinner. I hope

  you like pasta, because that is all you are likely to

  get. Her cooking is of the plain and simple variety,

  but at least it might add some flesh to your bones."

  Perhaps she was a little bit on the thin side — emotional

  pain did that to a person, after all — but there

  was no need for him to keep on pointing it out to her,

  was there? Jodie decided crossly as she turned away

  from him.

  "Be careful," he warned her sharply. "There is a step

  here—"

  But it was already too late, and Jodie gave a small

  cry as she missed it in the darkness and stumbled

  forward.

  Powerful hands seized her waist, and, as he had

  done before, Lorenzo caught her before she hit the

  ground, lifting her back onto her feet and steadying

  her there.

  When was it that her instincts registered and recognised

  the subtle shift in the way those hands were

  holding her? The movement that took their hold on

  her body and turned it from the impersonal dig of his

  fingers into the curve of her waist as he supported her

  into an explorative search for the femaleness of that

  curve? Was it really after it was too late to check or

  reject his instinctive male reaction? Had he really

  drawn her closer? Or had she been the one to move

  towards him?

  In the shadowy darkness it was impossible for her

  to see his face, or to judge which of them had promoted

  the body-to-body intimacy they were now

  sharing, and she hoped it was equally impossible for

  him to read her expression.

  He bent his head towards her and took her mouth

  in a shockingly intimate kiss of hard passion that was

  over almost as soon as it had begun. Then, without a

  word of either apology or explanation, he released

  her.

  She was in more danger of stumbling now than she

  had been before, Jodie realised, as her suddenly shaky

  legs carried her unsteadily towards the light of the

  Castillo.

  Jodie was on the verge of falling asleep when she

  heard the sound of Lorenzo’s bedroom door opening.

  Sucking in her breath, she tensed her body, her concentration

  focused on her own door, but the firm footsteps

  were already fading as Lorenzo walked past her

  room without even hesitating.

  Jodie sat up and looked at her watch. It was gone

  midnight. Where was he going? To Caterina? And if

  he was there was no reason for her to be concerned,

  was there? And certainly not enough to lie here wide

  awake, checking her watch every few minutes, her

  ears stretched for the sound of his return, like a jealous

  lover.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FLORENCE! How well its medieval ruler Lorenzo de

  Medici had loved his city, and how willingly he had

  shown that love, commissioning the best of the

  Renaissance"s gifted artists to embellish and enhance

  both its glory and his own.

  Jodie could only catch her breath as she sat beside

  Lorenzo in the Ferrari whilst he edged it through the

  city"s busy traffic, stretching every sense she could to

  take in as much as possible of the wonders all around

  her. Lorenzo turned off the busy main road that ran

  alongside the River Arno and drove the Ferrari down

  a street lined with elegant seventeenth-century buildings.

  "My apartment is in the block above us," he informed

  Jodie casually, as he turned into a narrow alleyway

  and then down into an underground car park.

  Jodie’s eyes adjusted to the gloom of the car park

  after the brilliance of the sunlit street. He had already

  informed her that he lived in Florence, but he hadn’t

  said as yet just where they would be living once they

  were married. Given the choice she would far rather

  be in Florence than the Castillo, Jodie thought as they

  left the car.

  Lorenzo guided her towards a door which opened

  onto a flight of stairs that took them up to an impressive

  entrance hall, with an equally impressive coat of

  arms prominently displayed above its main doorway.

  The same coat of arms, surely, which she had seen

  carved into the fireplace lintel in the great hall of the

  Castillo?

  "Come — the lift is this way," Lorenzo instructed

  her. "My apartment is on the top two floors. I chose

  it when I had the Palazzo remodelled because of its

  views — although my grandmother used to complain

  that she wished I had chosen one at ground level. She

  did not care for enclosed spaces or lifts."

  "The Palazzo?" Jodie questioned suspiciously

  "Does that mean that the whole of this building—?"

  "Was originally the home of my family? Yes. The

  Palazzo was built for the tenth Duce, who had many

  business interests in Florence. During my grandfather"s

  lifetime it fell into disrepair — much like the

  Castillo. When I inherited it I was faced with two

  choices. Either I abandoned it and sold it, or I restored

  it and found a way to make it pay for itself.

  Converting it into apartments seemed the most sensible

  option. That way I could retain control over any

  work to be done."

  "Is this where we will be living, then?" Jodie asked

  as they got out of the lift and she followed him across

  an elegant marble-floored outer hallway to a pair of

  intricately carved heavy wooden doors.

  "There will be times when we will live here in

  Florence, yes, which is why—" He broke off from

  whatever he had been about to say to unlock the doors

  before opening them for her.

  The room beyond them was another hallway: a

  long, rectangular double-height space, with a gallery

  around the whole of the upper storey. Its ceiling was

  domed in the centre and painted with allegorical

  scenes from mythology, whilst its walls were hung

  with paintings.

  "My family were at one time renowned patrons of

  the arts. The eleventh Duce enjoyed entertaining the

  English visitors who came to Florence in the seventeenth

  and eighteenth centuries. He held court here in

  the Palazzo, and his mistress"s salons were famous."

  "His mistress"s salons?" Jodie queried uncertainly.

  "The eleventh Duce was something of a rebel.

  While he stayed here in Florence, and set up home

  with his mistress, his wife and children were banished

  to a villa outside the city. He was a great patron of

  beauty in all its forms. He caused something of a

  scandal in Florence by having his mistress depicted

  in a series of paintings, each one portraying her readiness

  to receive him in a different sexual position. It

  is rumoured, in fact, that in order for the artist to

  faithfully portray the correct angles of her body, the

  original sketches were made whilst she and the Duce

>   were in the act of making love. But the Duce’s figure

  was removed by the artist for her final painting, so

  that her patron could visualise his lover’s body as she

  waited to receive him."

  "Oh," said Jodie weakly. "The artist was a woman?"

  Lorenzo shrugged. "My ancestor was probably concerned

  that a male artist might find such an erotic

  commission too much for his self-control. And rumour

  has it that Cosimo himself was not averse to

  persuading his artist to abandon her work in order to

  join them in their pursuit of sexual pleasure."

  When Jodie couldn’t help glancing at the walls,

  Lorenzo told her grimly, "You will not find any of

  the paintings here — they vanished a long time ago—

  looted, so it is believed, on Napoleon"s instructions.

  He had heard of them and wanted them. If they still

  exist they will be in the possession of some private

  collector." Lorenzo give another shrug. "Their value

  was not in the hand of the artist who painted them so

  much as in their notoriety." He flicked back the cuff

  of the linen jacket he was wearing and glanced at his

  watch.

  "It is now almost four o"clock. I telephoned ahead

  and arranged for you to have a private showing at a

  designer salon on Via Tornabuoni. The manager there

  understands the situation, and she will help you to

  select a suitable wardrobe — including a wedding

  dress. It isn’t very far from here, and—"

  "No!" Jodie could see the look of hauteur darkening

  Lorenzo’s eyes. He obviously didn’t like having his

  plans questioned. Tough, she decided grittily. No way

  was she going to be treated like some kind of mindless

  doll he could have dressed up in over-priced designer

  clothes to suit his own idea of how his wife

  should look.

  "I agree that I need to buy something suitable to be

  married in, but I am perfectly capable of making my

  own choice and paying for whatever I need with my

  own money. Think of how much medical care you

  could donate to those children in need, instead of

  wasting money on designer clothes for me," she urged

  him.

  "You have a valid point," he agreed. "But Italian

  society, like any other society, has its rules and its

  obligations. For you as my wife not to be dressed as

  the other wives will cause questions to be asked—

  which could raise doubts as to the true validity of our