Forced Bride

by Sara Craven

  come here, dregs of the gutter as she is, where she is not invited Because she has not been, I know it.’ She hugged

  Emily fiercely. ‘Let my Giorgio find Rafaele,cara . Make him take you home.’

  ‘By no means.’ Emily lifted her chin. ‘I came to a party, and I intend to enjoy it. Let’s find some champagne instead.’

  Bianca’s eyes were like saucers. ‘But is that wise’

  ‘Infinitely wiser than going home, believe me,’ Emily said crisply.

  Because I have no home. Just an empty house far away in England.

  The party was large and crowded, spreading throughout the palatial rooms on the ground floor, so it was nearly

  three-quarters of an hour before Raf tracked her down. Emily was in a side room flirting determinedly with a very junior

  member of the British Embassy staff, when she saw him coming towards her. The young man took one look at the

  Count’s face, realised his luck had changed for the worse and discreetly faded away, as Raf took her glass from her

  hand.

  ‘How many of these have you had’ he asked harshly.

  She lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Not nearly enough,signore .’

  His mouth tightened. ‘Get your wrap. We are leaving.’

  ‘But we only just got here,’ she protested. ‘And there are so manylovely people still to meet.’

  ‘They will have to wait for another occasion.’ His voice was grim. He paused. ‘Emilia, I do not wish to carry you to the

  door, but I will if I must.’

  ‘You’d make a scene in public’ Emily challenged. She shook her head and wished she hadn’t when the room swam a

  little. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘No scene. I would explain that the heat of the rooms had made you feel faint—and I would be believed.’ His hand

  closed on her arm. ‘Now come with me.’

  Not a word was spoken on the journey back to the house, and Raf’s profile was pure granite as he stared out of the car

  window.

  I don’t know what you have to be so sore about, Emily addressed him in silent bravado. I think you’ll find I’m the injured

  party here.

  Unless you’ve heard what I said to your Valentina, and you’re annoyed about that. But what was I supposed to do—just

  take it Think again,signore .

  Once in the house, she went straight upstairs without even bothering to offer him a formal goodnight. But, by the time she

  reached her room, her mood had begun to change, hurt and anger giving way to a feeling of defiance.

  Is that it she asked herself. She walks back into our lives and reclaims him and I meekly fade out of the picture Is that

  what they think—what they hope

  She began to pace backward and forward, the silk of her gown rustling in the quiet of the room.

  I looked good tonight, she thought, swinging round to look at herself in the mirror. Everyone said so, and I don’t think

  that was just a sympathy vote.

  Nor can I believe, in spite of everything, that Raf’s desire for me is stone dead. That he could want me so badly one

  night, only to cut me out of his life the next.

  Iwon’t believe it.

  But I’ve allowed this estrangement between us to happen. I’ve never challenged him or gone to him of my own accord.

  Instead, I’ve been fool enough to let my ridiculous pride stand in the way, when I need him so badly. Not just as my

  lover, either, but as the husband who teases me and laughs with me. Who smiles when our eyes meet across a room.

  Who holds me in his arms while I sleep and takes my hand when I’m nervous.

  Surely—surely out of all this there must be something left for me.

  Dear God, I’d settle for so little. So very little.

  If only—only I can make him want me again…

  She waited tensely until at last she heard him go into his room and saw the light come on. Then, taking a deep breath, she

  walked across to the communicating door and knocked.

  He opened it at once, his face drawn and remote in the lamplight.

  ‘It is late,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought you were asleep. You need your rest.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Not much rest if I have to sleep in this dress,signore .’ She turned her back. ‘The zip. Do you mind’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Where is Apollonia’ he asked harshly. ‘This is what she is paid for.’

  ‘You barred her at night-time, remember’ She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Please help me, Rafaele.’ She tried to

  smile. ‘You never objected before.’

  His fingers felt icy against her bare skin and they trembled as he undid the tiny hook, then tugged at the zip. Emily felt it

  give way at last as the dress fell away from her body, baring her to the waist. Slowly, she pushed the folds of fabric down

  over her hips to the floor and stepped out of them. Then she turned to face him, lifting her hands to release the jewelled

  clip at the nape of her neck, allowing her hair to tumble over her shoulders.

  She saw a hunger he could not disguise flare suddenly in his eyes as he looked at her half-naked body in its wisps of

  underwear and she felt an answering surge of hope deep inside her as she said his name, softly and huskily, and waited

  for him to reach for her.

  Only to see him stepping backwards, away from her, his face and voice expressionless as he said, ‘I wish you goodnight,

  Emilia. Sleep well.’

  And then the door closed between them with a kind of terrible finality. Shutting her out before she could speak again.

  Before she could ask why.

  Deliberately inflicting, she realised, stunned, the ultimate in rejection. In humiliation. Letting her know that her body had

  nothing more to offer him. That everything between them was truly and irrevocably over.

  What was it he’d once said to her—what he’d promisedI swear that there will come a time…when you will desire me as

  much as I want you now. And then, may God help you.

  That time, it seemed, had come, and the pain of it was an agony that nothing could cure. That she would carry with her

  always.

  Real life, she thought numbly. With no second chance.

  And she walked, stumbling, to the bed where once he’d taught her such exquisite delight and lay there like a stone as the

  shocked and hopeless tears poured down her stricken face at last.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AT SOMEpoint, Emily fell asleep, but woke around dawn, shivering and nauseous. She dragged herself from the bed and

  ran to the bathroom, where she was achingly, horribly sick.

  So much for champagne, she thought, leaning back against the tiled wall and waiting for the world to steady itself. But she

  couldn’t blame the champagne for everything that was wrong in her life. Nor could she say she’d been drunk when she’d

  committed the appalling folly of stripping in front of a man who didn’t want her.

  I knew exactly what I was doing, she told herself wearily, rinsing her face with cold water. I gambled and I lost. Now I

  have to live with the shame of it. If that’s possible.

  She felt her stomach lurch again and groaned silently. Perhaps her symptoms had nothing to do with champagne. Maybe

  they’d been induced by the misery of having her worst fears confirmed. Of being forced to come to terms with the hell of

  loneliness that awaited her.

  She closed her eyes. Had she really been stupid enough to think that loving him might be enough she wondered

  despairingly. That her need might somehow reach out to him and draw him closer Make him love her in return

  If so, she knew better now. And he had never pretended there would be any permanency in their rela
tionship—not from

  the first.

  And if she’d simply accepted his request for a divorce when it had been made, she would not be facing this intensity of

  heartbreak now.

  But then she would never have tasted the complete fulfilment of passion either. Would never have known what it was to

  lose herself totally to a man’s lips and hands, and the primal driving power of his body sheathed in hers.

  Her heart told her with sad honesty that, given the same choice again, she would not change a thing.

  That, however badly they were ending, these past six weeks would always be hers to cherish and remember. And no

  one, not even Valentina Colona with her all her sensual glamour, could take them away from her.

  She went back slowly into the bedroom. Soon the house would be waking up and she had no wish to be caught, least of

  all by Raf, still wearing the wisps of underwear from last night. She discarded them, reaching into a dressing room

  cupboard for one of the nightgowns that Raf had also chosen for her. It was an exquisite thing, white and filmy,

  embroidered with tiny silver flowers, but its Empire line style was also intrinsically modest.

  At the time, she’d looked at him with a certain irony. ‘I thought you didn’t approve of nightgowns.’

  ‘They have their uses,’ he’d said quietly, after a pause. ‘On occasion.’

  It was only afterwards that she’d realised, with faint embarrassment, that they were probably intended to signal discreetly

  those days of the month when her body would not be available to him.

  However, what occurred to her now with heart-stopping force was that this was the first time she’d felt the need to put

  one of them on. And that it had nothing—nothing at allto do with her female cycle.

  Which seemed, she realised numbly, to have gone into total abeyance.

  For a moment she was still, a slender white-clad statue, staring at herself in the mirror with eyes that burned.

  Then, slowly, she lifted a hand, pressing it against her abdomen.

  No, she thought.No! It can’t be true. I’m just—late, that’s all. And, because of everything else that’s been happening in

  my life, I—I simply didn’t realise how time was passing.

  I’ve never been that regular, anyway, she reminded herself, swallowing. And stress can play havoc with your system.

  Everyone knows that.

  Besides we—he’s always been so careful…

  Except once, she thought, drawing a sharp uneven breath. That day at the cottage when she’d gone into his arms, for the

  first time giving herself to him totally and without reserve. When nothing had mattered to either of them but the passionate

  joining of their bodies and its fulfilment.

  Just that once…

  She went back into the other room and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her trembling body until she was almost

  buried in their shelter. Whispering‘It can’t be true’ over and over again as she hid her face in the comfort of the pillow.

  Knowing, at the same time, that it could be true and probably was.

  And wondering how she could tell him. What she could possibly say when he’d made it abundantly clear that she had no

  further part to play in his life. Knowing that this was the last thing he could ever have intended.

  A harsh sob broke from her and she crushed a fist fiercely against her mouth. She couldn’t afford to make a sound in

  case it somehow attracted his attention. Because, in practical terms, only the wooden panels of a door lay between them.

  In every other way they were divided by an abyss as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon.

  And she couldn’t face him—not yet. She needed to be alone to think.

  To decide, somehow, what to do.

  And, at that very moment, she heard a faint creak and realised, dismayed, that the communicating door was, in fact,

  opening.

  Oh, God, she thought, he must have heard me after all.

  She closed her eyes and lay still, forcing herself to breathe deeply and evenly. But at the same time she was fully aware of

  his approach across the room.

  Knew when he paused beside the bed. Could feel his eyes looking down at her, searching for her under the shrouding

  covers.

  He said her name softly, but she made no response, not even the flutter of an eyelash, maintaining her breathing, carrying

  on the pretence, and eventually she heard him sigh, then retreat back the way he had come.

  Later, when she was sure he’d left for the day, she dozed a little again and was eventually woken by Apollonia’s voice

  saying, ‘Your breakfast,signora .’

  She struggled upright, pushing her hair back from her face, biting her lip as the smell of the coffee reached her, reviving

  her nausea.

  She said, ‘Take it away, please. I’m not hungry. Just draw my bath, please, Apollonia.’

  The girl shrugged with her usual indifference, but for a second her eyes were alive with curiosity and malice and Emily

  found herself almost shrinking away.

  I don’t like her, she thought. And I was a fool to let her stay.

  But Apollonia was the least of her concerns. When Emily arrived downstairs, she found a stack of messages awaiting her.

  Fiona and Bianca had both rung twice, but Emily didn’t have the energy to return their calls. Besides, they’d be wanting

  to make sure she’d survived last night’s encounter with Valentina Colona, and there was no assurance she could give

  about that.

  In fact, there was nothing much she could say at all, she thought. Nothing that would not be some form of self-betrayal.

  She told Gaspare that her late night had left her with a headache and she was going to rest quietly in thesalotto for the rest

  of the morning.

  His face was all concern. ‘May I fetch you something for the pain, my lady’ he asked in his careful English.

  She forced a smile. ‘No, thank you, Gaspare.’The analgesic to cure the way I hurt hasn’t been invented yet. ‘I think sleep

  is the best thing.’

  He nodded. ‘I will make sure the staff keep to the other end of the house, my lady. You will not be disturbed.’ He gave

  her a look of commiseration and departed.

  I must look as hellish as I feel, Emily thought wryly, as she stretched out on the sofa. She certainly wasn’t intending to

  sleep. She needed to confront her problems, but she soon found her own weariness coupled with the dancing flames in

  the fireplace were having a soporific effect.

  Perhaps when she woke up her mind would be clearer.

  But, when she did sleep, she found no rest. Instead, she was tormented by the mass of small unhappy images chasing

  endlessly through her brain. And knowing that they were only dreams made them no easier to bear. Especially when the

  face that swam in and out of her consciousness was a woman’s. A beautiful face with slanting dark eyes and full lips

  curved in triumph. A husky voice saying ‘Contessa!’—and making it sound like a taunt.

  A face and a voice that she needed to escape, she thought, coming back to herself with a sudden start.

  Only to find, horrified, that there was no refuge from this particular nightmare. That, incredibly, it was right there in the

  room with her. Valentina Colona, resplendent in a dark red suit, her mouth and nails coloured to match, long, shapely legs

  negligently crossed as she sat on the sofa opposite.