“I can hardly wait to experience them firsthand,” he said drily. “In the meantime, however, allow me clarify what I started to say before you left the dining room.”
“I didn’t leave the dining room, Benedict,” she informed him waspishly. “I stormed out in high dudgeon, and if you were one-tenth as perceptive as you like to think you are, you’d recognize how thoroughly ticked off I had to be, to do that in front of people I’ve only just met, and you’d modify your attitude accordingly—always assuming, of course, that you’re the least bit interested in keeping me around as your wife.”
“Don’t threaten me, Cassandra,” he warned her. “We are married and will remain so, at least as long as you’re carrying my child.”
Refusing to acknowledge the sliver of unease that revealing little slip of the tongue produced, she said rashly, “And after that, do you plan to ship me off to a nunnery?”
He shrugged. “Maybe even before then, if I deem it necessary.”
“Well, at least that would spare you having to explain to your mother that I’m pregnant, wouldn’t it? Why so reluctant to spread the good news, Benedict? Could it be that you’re ashamed to have her know you’re not quite as perfect as she’d like to believe?”
“I’m protecting you, Cassandra. There’ll be time enough to broadcast word of the baby once my mother’s become reconciled to the fact of our marriage. You’re too intelligent not to have noticed that she’s hardly overjoyed by it, and I see no point in exacerbating an already delicate situation, particularly not if you’re the one who’ll bear the brunt of it.”
“Why just me? Conceiving our child was a joint endeavor, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” he said sharply, “nor do I wish to become further embroiled in argument with you, so kindly be still and pay attention to what I’m about to tell you.”
Oh! Ohh! Seething, she said, “Stop treating me as if I’m some medieval…wench!”
That stopped him short! “I don’t know this word, ‘wench.’ What does it mean?”
“An inferior female designed for your pleasure, however you choose to take it.”
“What a novel concept,” he remarked thoughtfully. “I shall keep it in mind for future reference. For now, however, I prefer to focus on the immediate present, which brings me back to what I was trying to explain, before you went flying off at a tangent.”
She’d have repudiated that allegation, too, if she’d had the chance, but he steamrolled right over her and launched into part two of his lecture. “This is not San Francisco, Cassandra. It isn’t even Roma or Milano or Firenze. It is a small, ancient part of Italy with customs which go back centuries and which, in many respects, lags decades behind the rest of the country in its attitudes and outlook. Calabrian women do not, as a rule, enjoy the kind of professional prominence their counterparts in America take for granted—particularly not in family-run enterprises like ours, with international connections. They stick instead to more traditional roles.”
“Really?” She flung him a blistering glare through the warped glass of the mirror. “I guess someone forgot to tell your mother that.”
“My mother wasn’t active in any of our business dealings until she became widowed. Had there been another son, or if Francesca had a husband, he would have been the one to take over where my father left off. But there was neither, and because she’s more familiar with the local end of our industry than anyone else in the area, my mother tried to step into my father’s shoes.”
“Which you find perfectly acceptable, as long as your wife doesn’t—”
“I found it acceptable at first, because our workers had been with us for generations and were very loyal to our family name,” he said, drowning her out in a tone of voice she was quickly learning to hate. “With their cooperation, I had every reason to believe the operation here would continue to run smoothly.”
“But Mother’s taken on more than she can handle, right?”
Before answering, he hesitated just long enough to make her suspect he was choosing his next words with extreme care. Not lying, exactly, but laundering the truth. “It would appear so. Over the last several months, our most prized product, the bergamot, has not yielded as expected. Even more disturbing, our orchards and olive groves have been severely vandalized, thereby endangering next year’s crops. I surely don’t need to spell out for you the ramifications of such action.”
That he was worried was apparent, and she could understand why. “No, you don’t,” she said. “Wilful destruction of property is a serious matter on more than just a monetary front. It speaks of criminal intent and poses a very real danger to anyone attempting to put an end to it.”
“Precisely. I’m not anxious for my own safety, Cassandra, but for yours, and that’s why I don’t want you assuming any sort of public profile while we’re here. The less attention drawn to you, the better I’ll like it.”
Her annoyance softening under the warmth of his obvious concern, she said, “Do you know who’s responsible for the vandalism?”
“I suspect it’s retaliation from certain unscrupulous and dissatisfied employees.”
“What do you propose to do about it?”
“Reestablish the old order of things.” He glanced at her almost apologetically. “It might mean extending our time here.”
A horrifying thought struck her. “You’re not hinting at relocating here permanently and taking your mother’s place, are you?” she asked with unvarnished dismay.
“No,” he said, firmly enough to reassure her. “You know how, as a family, we’ve divided responsibility among us. My place is not here at the local level. But if production of our fundamental resources cannot be implemented, we’ll all be looking for other ways to make a living.”
“My goodness, I had no idea things were as bad as this.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “If cash flow’s a problem, I might be able to help. No one but you and I would need to know.”
“Not as long as I have breath in my body, Cassandra! I no more married you for your money, than you married me for mine.”
“Well, of course you didn’t, because you didn’t know exactly how much I’m worth, but it just so happens that my grandmother left me a sizable inheritance.”
“I don’t care if she left you the Hope Diamond,” he said flatly. “This is not your problem, and I won’t have you involved in trying to resolve it.”
“So who will you call on, then? The police?”
“No.” He picked up her brush and began stroking it through her hair. “We are a small community. Everyone here is related, either directly or through marriage, to his neighbor. Even if it were possible to identify those responsible for causing the damage, we’d gain nothing but ill will by pressing formal charges. A man behind bars cannot provide for his family, and family in this part of the world is paramount. Punish one member, and you punish them all.”
Appalled, she said, “So you’re letting felons go free? That doesn’t make much sense! You’re just encouraging more trouble.”
“The Constantinos have a reputation to uphold, and they do it with their own brand of justice, not one imposed by the state. Until this recent crisis, our employees have known they could depend on us to treat them fairly and with respect. I must prove to them that such a tradition has not been abandoned.”
“What makes you think they’ll believe you?”
“I grew up here. I understand the people and they understand me. In the past, we have enjoyed a mutual trust, and my first task is to reestablish it. Once that is done, I’ll deal with anyone still inclined toward inflicting damage to our property.”
“I don’t much like the sound of that! What about the risks you’d be taking?”
“They’d be no worse than facing your wrath, cara,” he said lightly.
Too lightly! He might be unspeakably bossy and annoying on occasion, but he was her husband and she realized that, in a remarkably short space of time, she’d grown very
fond of the idea. The thought of him putting himself in the line of fire filled her with dismay.
Wishing she hadn’t been so quick to lose her temper with him, she said, “You should have told me all this sooner.”
“I’d have preferred never to have mentioned it at all.” He returned the hairbrush to the dressing table and rested his hands on her shoulders. “Our honeymoon’s facing enough hurdles, without burdening it further with my problems.”
She leaned back and rested against him, loving the sense of security it gave her. Small wonder his field hands trusted him. He exuded a strength and integrity that inspired confidence, and made anything seem possible.
“Sharing problems is what being married’s all about, Benedict,” she murmured, closing her eyes.
For the space of a minute or two, he massaged her shoulders gently. And then, almost imperceptibly, his fingers slid to the base of her throat and grew still. “It’s about more than that, cara mia,” he said hoarsely.
She heard the tortured desire behind his words, and her blood raced. “I know,” she said, and drew his hand down to her breast.
It remained there, shaping her so possessively, so sensuously, that her flesh ached and a bolt of sensation shot the length of her, to settle between her legs.
With a soft gasp of pleasure, she opened her eyes and looked in the mirror. She saw his gaze fixed on her reflection, mesmerized by her rapid breathing, the heightened color in her cheeks, the wild flutter of the pulse below her jaw. She saw the dark fire in his eyes and knew that hers was not the only heart leaping to win a race it had already lost.
Her glance dropped. As she watched, his hands inched deliberately to the buttons at her throat, undid them, and pushed the nightgown over her shoulders and down her arms, until it fell to her waist. And all the time, he stared at her in the mirror, gauging her response, knowing he was driving her mad.
“Don’t stop, Benedict!” she begged, on a broken sigh.
In answer, he lowered his head to kiss the side of her neck, then whispered in her ear, and she didn’t need to understand Italian to know that he was speaking the language of love—of making love—in very explicit terms.
He leaned farther over her and she, cradled against his hips, reveled in the urgent thrust of his arousal between her shoulder blades. His lips trailed over the upper slope of one breast, delineating the blue veins marking her skin, before his mouth found her nipple and tugged at it gently.
Saliva pooled under her tongue, and a tiny cry escaped her. She squirmed on the padded bench. Felt the heat tracing arcs of lightning at her core.
She tried to turn but he held her imprisoned against his erection, pushed her nightgown lower, and spread his palms over her belly.
“Benedict…!” she implored, and reaching behind, slid her hands up the back of his spread thighs to their apex, and caressed the masculine configuration clustered there.
This time, he was the one who groaned, a feral, primitive sound. The sound of a warrior facing insurmountable odds.
He lifted his head again to look at her. His eyes smoldered like embers, and his chest heaved. But tonight he was not a man to submit to her wiles, no matter how powerful they might be. Instead, he fought back.
He pushed her gown lower and slipped his hand between her legs. No more able to resist his invasion than any other part of her, they fell slackly apart and gave him access. He delved deep between the moist, silken folds of her flesh and found the spot quivering at her center.
He touched it. Just once.
It was enough.
She convulsed.
Prisms of color swirled through her mind, suffused her senses. Hot, blinding. Her body clenched, released. Clenched again. And again and again, until she thought she’d faint from the sublime torture of it.
But he was horrified at what he’d effected. Withdrawing his hand, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, as if afraid she might fly apart if he didn’t contain her.
“Don’t worry, Benedict,” she whispered, sensing his fear and wanting to reassure him. Wanting, if truth be told, for more—for him to lose himself inside her. “I’m fine.”
“No,” he said, his face a mask of misery. “I had no right to do that.”
“You had every right,” she breathed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I’m your wife. What just happened between us is perfectly natural.”
“No,” he said again, releasing her and stepping safely out of temptation’s way. “It was unwise. You could miscarry—”
“I’m not going to miscarry. We’re going to have a healthy baby.”
Unconvinced, he paced about the room. “Do you feel…anything?”
She’d have smiled at the question, except she knew that he was in no mood for levity. “I feel cherished.”
“No cramping or discomfort?”
“Just the ache of fulfillment, and I think that’s allowed.”
“I didn’t marry you for sex,” he reminded her grimly. “I married you because you’re expecting my child. If, because of something I’ve done, you should lose the baby…”
“What?” she said, a bleak chill replacing the warm and lovely sensations of a moment ago. “You’d apply for an annulment the very next day?”
“I’d never forgive myself.”
“Well, Benedict,” she said, pulling her nightgown back where it belonged and doing up the buttons, “I have a feeling it’s really not in your hands. Nature has a way of taking care of itself where pregnancy’s concerned. Just because we have to be careful for the next little while doesn’t mean you have to behave as if I’m made of porcelain, liable to shatter at the slightest touch.”
“I’m not prepared to take the chance. There’ll be no more incidents like this, Cassandra, until your doctor gives the word.”
There might just as well never have been an incident like that to begin with! The passion he’d barely been able to hold in check had metamorphosed into a reserve so cool that it reminded her of the sea fog, slinking up from San Francisco Bay to leave its clammy imprint on every room in her town house.
Depressed, she pushed back the bench and went into the bathroom. She was willing to give him everything of herself, and she wanted the same from him. But he was determined to allow her only a little, and while it was, in itself, overwhelming and magnificent, it wasn’t enough.
Was she asking too much, she wondered, as she brushed her teeth. Was the outpouring of emotional generosity she felt, simply a woman thing, which men didn’t understand and couldn’t emulate?
She had no answers, nor was he forthcoming with any because, when she returned to the bedroom, it was to find him gone. Her one consolation at being once more abandoned for the night was the realization that, however much it might irk him, he knew the only way he could keep a lid on the sexual attraction sizzling between them, was for him to stay away from her.
They were just finishing a breakfast of fruit, sweet rolls and coffee the next morning, when Cassie mentioned her intention to walk into the village to do some shopping. With the threat of so much idle time on her hands, she wanted to start making items for the baby’s layette, but needed to buy supplies.
“No,” Benedict said.
“What do you mean, no?” Taken aback by his instant and adamant veto, she stared at him indignantly.
“I mean, absolutely not,” he said. “In fact, I forbid it.”
Was this the same man who, with a single touch, had reduced her to incoherent ecstasy last night? Who, for a few stolen moments, had shown such a caring side to his nature that she’d all but fallen in love with him?
“Benedict,” she said, articulating each word slowly and distinctly, just to make sure he received the message she was determined to convey, “first of all, I won’t allow you to forbid me to do anything. And second, there’s nothing here to keep me occupied.”
Nor was there, unless rattling around in the gloomy old palazzo was considered entertainment. Francesca and Elvira had left a few minu
tes before for the office, to do whatever it was they did there—the latter again bestowing a puzzled glance at Cassie as if she hadn’t the foggiest idea who she was—and Benedict was about to go off for a meeting with those men still willing to work the estate.
“It’s too far for you to walk to the village,” he said, not sparing her even a glance, so busy was he perusing a computer printout. “And even if it weren’t, I doubt you’d find what you’re looking for there.”
“Then I’ll take your car and drive to the nearest town.”
“No.”
Doing her best to hang on to her temper, she said curtly, “Are you afraid I might dent its precious fender? Get stopped for speeding? Trade it in for a Vespa and go whizzing all over the countryside, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake?”
Oblivious to her mounting irritation, he calmly flipped over a page, and took a mouthful of coffee before saying, yet again, “No.”
“Damn it, Benedict!” Totally out of patience, she slammed her hand down on the table hard enough to make him look up. “Is that your answer for everything this morning?”
“If you want to go shopping, Cassandra,” he said mildly, “I will take you, as soon as I can spare the time.”
“I don’t need to be taken anywhere,” she snapped, surreptitiously stroking her other hand over her stinging palm. “I’m perfectly capable of following a map and I have an international driver’s license, so what’s your real objection?”
“I don’t want you wandering around by yourself outside the palazzo.”
“Why ever not?”
“I thought I explained my reasons, last night.”
“On the workfront, yes, you did, but this goes beyond that. For heaven’s sake, on the street among other people, I could pass for just another tourist.”
“It’s too early in the season for tourists, and you’re too blond and foreign-looking to pass unnoticed, even in a crowd.”
“But—!”
Exasperated, he slapped the computer sheets on the table. “But nothing! The plain fact of the matter is, I’m concerned for your safety, Cassandra. I don’t want you to become the target of…mischief.”
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