Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  When she walked into the drawing room some ten minutes later, her hair loose and shining like molten cop­per, and just the merest touch of green eyeshadow her only make-up, Romano Bellini was very still for some moments before walking from where he had been stand­ing, looking out over the dark grounds through the full-length windows, to her side.

  'In my country it is mostly the older women who wear black,' he said softly, 'but perhaps it is a tradition that should change.'

  'I…thank you—at least I think it was a compliment,' she added, with a disarming uncertainty that made him look at her for one minute more before he threw back his head and laughed—a loud, husky, almost grating laugh, a laugh that sounded as though it hadn't been aired for a long time.

  'It was,' he assured her solemnly as she flushed a bright, body-consuming red. 'Indeed it was.'

  Claire was aware of Grace and Donato's interested glances from the other side of the room, where Donato was preparing cocktails, and she now felt so flustered and out of her depth that she tried to walk hastily for­ward, forgetting her unusually high heels, one of which entangled itself in an exquisite Persian rug and would have sent her sprawling but for Romano's firm hand on her arm.

  'Steady, little English girl, steady.' His voice was deep and very soft, reaching only her ears. 'I might be the big bad wolf, capable of diverse and terrible crimes, but I am hardly likely to attempt an assault on your virtue in front of my two oldest and dearest friends, am I?'

  'Don't be ridiculous. I tripped, that's all.' Her voice wasn't as firm as she would have liked it to be, mainly due to the fact that he had changed from the black shirt and trousers into dinner dress, which, when combined with the midnight-blue silk shirt he was wearing and the wickedly sardonic smile, proved…overwhelming. And stunning. And devastating. She felt the warmth of his hand burning her skin and prayed for calm. This little incident alone confirmed everything she had thought up­stairs. They might have come from different planets.

  'Of course you did.' His voice was smooth now, and cold, and she felt a sudden and quite absurd disappoint­ment that perversely brought her chin high and made her smile bright as she joined the other two.

  Things were a little more comfortable once Lorenzo joined them a few minutes later. She had experienced an immediate rapport with Donato's young brother in the summer, the gift she had with all children as strong as ever, and now they fell into easy conversation as they relived their battles before dinner, teasing each other un­mercifully.

  'You have a way with children.' As they walked through to the formal dining room at Gina's bidding some minutes later Romano took her arm again, drawing her into his side. 'I can see why your name has barely been off Lorenzo's lips since the summer. He clearly adores you.'

  'He's a nice…he's a lovely lad,' she said quietly, alarmed at the way such a casual touch could make her quiver. 'He's coped with a lot in his short life from what Grace tells me—the loss of his parents and…and his sister,' she continued, after the briefest of pauses when she realised she wasn't being exactly tactful in remind­ing him of his loss. 'And yet he has come through it all without any bitterness or resentment and emerged as a normal and well-adjusted teenager.'

  'Donato and Grace are partly to be praised for that' She could smell his aftershave, and whether it was because it was wildly expensive or just that his physical chemistry suited it wonderfully well, the end result was making a sensual warmth tremble deep in her lower stomach as the faint but heady fragrance touched her senses.

  'They purposely decided to give the last two or three years to Lorenzo, to make sure he felt loved and wanted for who and what he is, before they tried for a family of their own again.'

  'Did they?' She stopped at the door to the dining room, the others having walked ahead. 'They are good people, aren't they?' she said softly as she looked up into his darkly handsome face.

  'Yes, they are. But goodness can make one frighteningly vulnerable at times.' His voice was cold now, very cold. 'It is a commodity that is less desirable in this present world than scepticism, I think. To disbelieve, to doubt or question, this is not a bad thing.'

  'Not in some circumstances, but you don't mean as a general rule, do you?' she asked, stiffening at the blatant cynicism his words had revealed.

  'That is exactly what I mean,' he said expressionlessly, his glittering black eyes noting the indignant flush in her cheeks.

  'Well, I don't agree with that!' She glared at him, her eyes honey-gold in the artificial light overhead and her body language militant. 'That's awful. That would mean you could never trust anyone, or believe in them, unless you had a signed affidavit first.'

  'A little extreme, but near enough to make no matter.' He gestured to the room beyond with a curt nod of his head. 'I think they are waiting…?'

  The dinner table was a vision of heavy, solid silver cutlery, fine crystal glasses, exquisite linenware and a magnificent centrepiece of hot-house blooms that per­fumed the air with a sweet fragrance. The room itself was grand and ornate too, and more than a little awe-inspiring, like the rest of Casa Pontina.

  As the courses came and went, each one more deli­cious than the one before, Claire found she didn't have to work at relaxing. Several glasses of good wine com­bined with Donato and Grace at their best as amusing and congenial hosts were lulling her unease. The tiring day, mostly spent travelling by plane and car, the memo­ries of everything associated with the accident, the con­fusion and alarm the dark man opposite her evoked—all of it faded into a still, soothing warmth as the wine and good food did its work. It was a calm respite that she knew wouldn't last, but it was wonderfully pleasing on the senses.

  They laughed, they joked, they ate and drank, but through it all, every moment, every second, she was vi­tally aware of the big, dark, laconic figure opposite her, every nerve and sinew tuned into him in a way she had never experienced before. She didn't like it, but there was nothing she could do about it either.

  'Did you go home to change?' It was towards the end of the meal that she asked the question that had been at the back of her mind all evening, indicating his immacu­late evening wear with a wave of her hand.

  'Sì, it is not far.' He smiled politely, and his voice reflected his expression as he added, 'You must visit my home at some time while you are here.'

  Oh, he didn't think she had been angling for a visit to his villa, did he? Her calm composure shattered in­stantly. She hadn't. She really hadn't.

  'Thank you, but I think I'm going to have plenty to do with the lady in waiting.' She softened the refusal with a careful smile, hoping he would get the message that he was off the hook, but instead of the overt relief she had expected to see in the lethal black eyes his face took on a coolness, a remoteness that was intimidating.

  'I am sure there will be an opportunity, nevertheless,' he said stiffly. 'It will be a pleasure to entertain you.'

  Brilliant—she'd offended him now. He'd probably guessed she'd sensed he was offering out of courtesy and, with true Italian pride and hospitality, would now force the issue in spite of his feelings just to save face.

  'Yes, perhaps. But Donato and Grace have mentioned how busy you are. We'll have to see…' Her voice trailed off as his sombre gaze took hers and held it in a grip that was paralysing.

  'Saturday evening,' he said grimly.

  'What?' She was aware that the other three had paused in the easy conversation they had been holding about future names for the babies, and that Donato and Grace at least were listening with some interest.

  'Dinner at my home on Saturday evening.' It was said without the slightest pretence at an invitation. In fact the cool, harsh words carried more of a challenge than any­thing else, and it was one she had no intention of taking up.

  'I don't think—'

  'Donato and Grace too, of course.' There was a cold arrogance in the way he spoke that suggested he knew she wouldn't dare accept an invitation by herself, but even that overt mockery wasn't going to provoke
her into agreeing to go to his home, she thought angrily, bristling in spite of herself. Who did he think he was anyway? Ordering her about as though she were some sort of stupid schoolgirl who wouldn't say boo to a goose?

  'I'm sorry, Romano. It's very kind of you, but I really would like a few days to acclimatise and get used to things,' she said firmly. 'I'm sure there will be other opportunities—'

  'A week on Saturday, then,' he said immediately.

  She knew a moment's sheer panic at the fact that a will far stronger than hers was meeting her head-on, and then decided that she had made her point and that to refuse again would be both petty and rude.

  'That will give you enough time to…adjust?' he asked with deceptive smoothness, one black eyebrow quirking in a manner that could only be called goading.

  'I should think so.'

  She managed a bright smile, as though all the under­currents had completely passed her by, but then stiffened when in the next instant Donato said, 'That would work out very well, in actual fact. Grace and I have tickets for the opera on that night—you remember you bought them for my birthday, Romano? I was going to suggest that Grace and Claire used them instead, but if Claire is happy to have dinner with you we will know she is being looked after, and we could all go to the opera together another time.'

  'Of course, a week on Saturday is your birthday.' There was something, just something in the silky soft voice that told Claire that Romano hadn't forgotten the date of Donato's birthday for a moment, or the treat he had arranged for his friend and his wife, and as she turned her head again to look him straight in the eye the black gaze was waiting for her. 'I'm sure Claire would rather you and Grace enjoy the opera together,' he con­tinued pleasantly. 'Is that not so, Claire?'

  'I…' Game, set and match! Why, oh why, hadn't she agreed to this Saturday, when Donato and Grace could have come with her? 'Yes, of course,' she said hastily as the black eyebrow rose still further at her hesitation. 'There is no way I would dream of taking your ticket, Donato, you know that, but perhaps the week after that would do just as well?'

  'Nonsense.' Romano's voice was brisk now, signal­ling the end to a conversation he clearly considered had gone on long enough. 'Donato and Grace will enjoy their evening all the more, knowing you are safe in my hands, Claire.'

  The black eyes were wicked as they held hers, the message contained in the words for her ears alone, and then his face took on a benevolent expression that made her want to kick him as he turned to face the others. 'That is settled, then, sì? A pleasant evening for all con­cerned, I am sure.'

  I'm not. The words were so loud in her head she was surprised the others hadn't heard them, but then, as Romano turned back to her, she knew he had, and had to force herself to say, in as normal a tone as she could muster, 'Thank you very much, I'll look forward to it.'

  'Good.' He didn't know how near he came to that kick again as he added, in an innocent drawl, 'It will be… nice.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  This was stupid. This was really, really stupid. Claire frowned ferociously at the girl in the mirror as she leant back against the small upholstered dressing table chair. The very last thing in the world she wanted was to have dinner alone with Romano Bellini, so why on earth was she preparing to do just that? She should have pleaded a headache, flu, mental collapse—anything!

  She twisted restlessly on the chair, hating the glimmer of panic in her eyes but unable to do anything about it She hadn't seen him since that first night she had arrived but had been on tenterhooks every time the phone had rung or the doorbell had sounded—until Donato had mentioned casually at dinner on her third night with them that Romano was abroad for a few days on busi­ness. 'He returns Friday night,' Donato had added, as though to reassure her that the dinner date was still on. 'OK?'

  No, no it was not OK, but she couldn't very well say so. Romano had tied her up tighter than a bale of hay, he knew it and she knew it, and the rest of them, to her intense irritation, thought he was merely being friendly and supportive to a stranger in his country.

  She sighed, loudly and crossly, before leaning forward again and continuing to put the finishing touches to her make-up. She assumed, considering it would be just the two of them, that smart but casual would be the order of the day, and the long-sleeved waist-length jumper in soft white bobbly wool teamed with an ankle-length skirt in dense black denim seemed to fit the bill.

  She had decided to wear her hair up, securing the silky chestnut strands in a high knot on top of her head and allowing just a few strands about her face and neck to combine with her thick fringe and soften the severe style.

  A touch of grey eyeshadow on her eyelids and large gold hoops in her ears and she was ready. She fastened the second earring and gazed at her reflection critically. Not bad, quite passable, but nothing on the lines of the sort of women he was used to, she thought quietly. She and Grace had spent one afternoon browsing through old photo albums, and she had been interested to see Bianca had been as beautiful as a baby and child as she was as an adult—interested and dismayed, if she was honest, she amended weakly.

  Not that she was interested in Romano. She wasn't, not at all, but it was slightly disconcerting to be having dinner with a man who favoured tall, voluptuous model-types, as the old photographs of the girlfriends he had had before Bianca had borne evidence to, and who had been married for some years to one of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen.

  'Donato and Romano were the original playboys, I think.' Grace had been smiling as she spoke, clearly to­tally undisturbed by her husband's riotous past before he had met her, as her next words had qualified. 'Before they settled down, that is.'

  'Umm.' Claire couldn't drag her eyes away from the dashingly handsome man in the photos, who looked al­most boyish compared to now. Still, he had lost his wife, she thought soberly, that would be enough to make any man grow up fast.

  'Was he very affected by Bianca's death?' she asked Grace carefully, not really wanting to know the answer but having to enquire just the same. 'It must have been an awful shock to you all.'

  'It was.' Claire had noticed before that Grace didn't like to talk about Donato's sister, and reproached herself for not keeping quiet as her friend's face changed. She, of all people, knew how traumatic the results of a bad car crash could be for relatives and friends even if the victim lived, and Bianca hadn't. 'But he coped,' Grace continued quietly. 'We all did. You just have to, don't you?'

  'I guess.' Claire nodded soberly, her face sympathetic as she reached across and squeezed Grace's hand for a moment. 'I'm sorry, Grace, I shouldn't have mentioned it. I know you and Bianca weren't close, but being the same age and everything it must have been terribly dif­ficult for you.'

  'Claire—' Grace stopped abruptly, her face working as she stared into her eyes for a long moment. 'I… There's something…'

  'What's the matter?'

  But she had never found out what the matter was be­cause a second later Lorenzo had bounded in, closely followed by Donato, and the moment had been lost.

  A discreet knock at her bedroom door brought her out of her reverie, and as she called for her to enter Gina's dark head peered in. 'Scusi, signorina, but the signore, he has arrived.' The little maid beamed at her as though she was imparting wonderful news, and Claire dredged up a suitable response as her heart kicked and then raced like an express train.

  He was here. As Gina closed the door, leaving her alone again, Claire shut her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand pressed against her chest. Calm down, calm down—he's just a man, for goodness' sake. There's nothing special about him. Even as the thought took shape she acknowledged its absurdity, the tall, com­manding figure that had been there at the forefront of her mind for days suddenly as real as if he were in the room with her.

  Wouldn't he just love to know he had affected her like this? She opened her eyes wide, straightening her back and setting her mouth determinedly. But he wouldn't. She'd die first. She didn't understand this ph
ysical attraction that had hit her like a ton of bricks, not when it was for a man she didn't really know, didn't want to know and actively disliked. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and without any rhyme or reason, but… her thoughts were her own and he didn't have access to them, thank goodness.

  She was going to have dinner with him tonight, act cool and uninterested, and hopefully he wouldn't feel obliged to repeat the exercise, having discharged his duties as friend and member of the family. No prob­lem…

  The words mocked her a few minutes later as she walked into the drawing room where Romano was waiting. He was sitting in front of the flickering log fire, his long legs stretched out in idle relaxation and his eyes on one of Donato's car magazines which he was idly glancing through, but at her entrance he slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable as he saw her in the doorway. 'Ciao, Claire.'

  He was every bit as devastating as she remembered, the black waist-length leather jacket and black jeans em­phasising the dark, magnetic power of the man to such an extent that she had to swallow twice before she could say, 'Good evening, Romano.'

  'That remains to be seen.' The dark, glossy head tilted with a mocking smile, but such was the look on her face that for the second time in their acquaintance the harsh, husky laugh followed, before he said, 'I apologise, I am being very rude, but you are so good to tease, you know this? Those big golden-brown eyes look at me as though I am the devil himself, and I find it prompts all sorts of bad thoughts. But do not fear, mia piccola, I will not ravish you in my lair.'

  'No, you won't,' she agreed bitingly, bitterly resenting the implication that she was some nervous, naïve female with goo-goo eyes and a brain to match. 'You won't get the chance, for one thing.'

  'With any other woman I might take that as a subtle incitement, a challenge,' he drawled easily. 'But some­thing tells me you mean every word you say.'