by Sara Craven
‘But of course,’ he said. ‘And with impeccable timing.’
She swallowed. ‘If you say so.’ Her flush deepened. ‘But surely you—you must have known that you weren’t—that I wasn’t …?’
‘Not until you drew blood.’ His smile was sudden and mocking. ‘And maybe not even then, although it is usually my back that suffers.’
If she blushed any more, she would probably burst into flames, Ellie thought, setting her jaw. ‘Then it’s a pity you didn’t realise your mistake at once,’ she said icily. ‘And spared us both some hideous embarrassment as well as this present ghastly mess.’
‘How true,’ he said. ‘But a man with a warm, naked girl in his arms does not always think clearly, you understand.’
No, thought Ellie. She did not understand, but she did not intend to cause him further amusement by saying so.
She said stiffly, ‘You seem to be taking this very lightly, Count Manzini.’
‘Do I?’ There was an edge to his voice. ‘You would be entirely wrong to think so, Signorina Blake. I accept the situation we have been forced into because I must. But, believe me, I shall not forget the cause.’
He paused. ‘Tell me something. Why, last night, didn’t you tell the truth about my presence in your bed?’
She said in a low voice, ‘Perhaps if Madrina had been alone, I’d have done so, and the whole thing could have been—hushed up. But there were other people there—your grandmother—Signor Barzado. I couldn’t let them know that you thought I was really Silvia.’
His mouth curled cynically. ‘Your loyalty is as touching as it is misplaced.’
She said stiltedly, ‘What you don’t realise is that she’s been—good to me. Generous too with things like—clothes.’
‘And the scent you wore last night,’ he said softly. ‘Was that also a gift from her?’
‘Why, yes. It was almost a full bottle. She said she no longer cared for it.’ She gave him an uncertain look. ‘How did you know?’
‘A fortunate guess,’ he said. ‘Pour the rest away, signorina. It does not suit you, as I am sure she knew.’
‘But it wasn’t just Silvia,’ she added unhappily. ‘There were her parents to consider as well. They’ve always been so kind to me.’ She hesitated. ‘And—Ernesto, too, in his way. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt like this.’
He shrugged. ‘Prima o poi. Sooner or later, it will happen, but I, grazie a Dio, shall not be the cause.’
He moved away from the window, walking towards her, and this time she did step back, her eyes meeting his defensively. He halted, the dark brows lifting in hauteur.
He said, ‘Perhaps I should remind you that we are supposed to be passionately in love. So much so that we forgot everything in our need to be together.’
‘Who on earth is going to believe that?’ she muttered defensively.
‘No-one—if you intend to flinch each time I come near you,’ he returned tersely. ‘Everyone—if you stand with your hand in mine and smile at me while our engagement is announced. And, most importantly, Prince Damiano will believe it.’
‘But is that really so important? There must be other banks you could approach if Credito Europa turns you down,’ she protested.
‘In the financial world, a rejection by Cesare Damiano would be taken very seriously,’ he said. ‘It would be a black mark not just against me but Galantana too. I cannot permit that to happen.’
He added harshly, ‘This trick that Silvia has played on us is like a stone dropped into a pool. The ripples are already beginning to spread. I discovered this at breakfast when I encountered Signora Barzado’s prurient gaze. She cannot wait to leave, I think, and tell all Rome how we were caught in flagrante.’
Ellie looked down at the carpet. ‘Your grandmother believes that too.’
‘Bene. It follows that we must give the lady another less interesting story to spread.’ He added sardonically, ‘One with a happy ending.’
‘It can hardly be called that.’ She swallowed. ‘More a tissue of lies.’ She hesitated. ‘And just how long will we have to maintain this deception?’
‘For as long as it is necessary.’ He shrugged. ‘Believe me, signorina, you are not the only sufferer.’
He glanced past Ellie as the door opened to admit the Principessa, her smile a little fixed.
‘You must excuse me. I have been welcoming another guest. Silvia’s husband, caro Ernesto, has been able to join us. Such a pleasure.’ Ignoring Ellie’s gasp of disbelief, she paused, playing with the bracelet she was wearing, her glance flickering from one impassive face to the other, now flushed with anger as well as embarrassment.
‘And by now you have arranged everything between you, I am sure,’ she went on. ‘The Prince has telephoned to say he will be here for lunch, so I suggest the announcement is made then.’
But nothing happened …
The same desperate words echoed and re-echoed in Ellie’s head, but remained unuttered. There was no point, she thought numbly. A course of action had been agreed, and would be adhered to. Ernesto’s sudden arrival had guaranteed that. But what had brought him? Had he come of his own accord, or had it already been arranged with Silvia? And had the important client who needed his advice ever existed?
She felt too weary to think any more, as she watched Angelo Manzini bow slightly, kiss her godmother’s hand then leave.
The Principessa came over to her, studying her with critical eyes. ‘You look a little worn, dearest girl. If you go to your room, my maid will bring you this wonderful concealer that I have discovered and show you how to use it. You must look radiant for your fidanzamento.’
Ellie gave her an anguished look. ‘Godmamma—I.’
Lucrezia Damiano kissed her on the cheek. ‘And do not worry, my little one.’ She gave a determined nod. ‘All will be well. All will be very well. You will see.’
Consolata was deft and clever with cosmetics, Ellie was forced to admit. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was no longer as pale and strained as it had been. Her lashes had been darkened with mascara, and her mouth defined by a soft coral lipstick.
The older woman had frowned and sighed, however, over the limited choice of clothing in the wardrobe and reluctantly agreed that the skirt and top Ellie was already wearing would have to do.
But the signorina was not to go immediately to the sala da pranzo, she added. The Principe had returned and wished first to speak to her in the garden.
Ellie’s heart sank, but she supposed the interview with Cesare Damiano was inevitable.
She found him as usual in the walled garden among his beloved roses, a tall man with iron-grey hair, treading slowly along the graveled walks, his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose as he scanned the beds for signs of disease or pests.
As Ellie reached him, he turned from his scrutiny of a magnificent display of blooms so deeply crimson they seemed almost black.
‘The Toscana,’ he said meditatively. ‘As beautiful as when it was first grown here six hundred years ago. It gives one a sense of stability—of the rightness of things. Do you not think so, Elena?’
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
He studied her gravely. ‘Your godmother tells me that you and Count Manzini wish to be married, my child.’
That, thought Ellie, startled, is the last thing either of us wants.
Aloud, she said hesitantly, ‘We—we have agreed to become engaged, sir.’
He pursed his lips. ‘An engagement is a solemn promise and, in this case, made not before time, according to what my wife has told me.’ He sighed. ‘And while I deplore the way your courtship has been conducted, I believe I must give you both my blessing.
‘I have spoken to Count Manzini,’ he went on more briskly. ‘And he has assured me there will be no more unseemly incidents before the ceremony. Nevertheless, young blood runs hot, and the Principessa and I agree that you should at once take up residence in our house in Rome, and be married from there. That should remove temptat
ion and at the same time dispel any unfortunate rumours.’ He allowed himself a faint smile. ‘I shall allow myself the privilege of giving you away, my dear child.’
The world seemed to recede to some far distance. She was aware of the sun beating down on her head, and the hum of bees. And from somewhere, her voice saying hoarsely, pleadingly, ‘But there’s no need for so much hurry—surely.’
The austere look returned. ‘I hope not indeed. But at the same time there is also no reason to delay.’ He glanced past her. ‘As I am sure your fidanzato will wish to assure you.’
Ellie turned apprehensively to see Angelo Manzini approaching unhurriedly down the path.
Prince Damiano patted her shoulder. ‘I will leave you together. But first—this.’ He reached out and picked a long-stemmed red rose from a nearby bush. ‘A flower for lovers,’ he said, handing it to her, then, bowing slightly, walked off towards the house.
She watched him go, almost in despair, then turned to face Angelo, her slim body rigid, her eyes blazing accusation.
‘You seem disturbed, mia bella,’ he commented coolly as he reached her.
‘I’ll say I’m disturbed,’ she said shakily. ‘This engagement is quite bad enough, but they seem to be planning our wedding as well. What the hell is going on?’ She drew a breath then added furiously, ‘And I’m neither yours, nor am I—beautiful.’
‘Not when you are glaring at me, perhaps. And your choice of clothing hardly does you justice either.’ He paused. ‘But you have possibilities, as I observed last night when you were wearing no clothes at all.’
For a moment she was lost for words, then she said chokingly, ‘How—how dare you?’
He shrugged. ‘You chose to turn on the lamp. And I am not blind.’
‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘And you also have the power of speech, so go back to the house right now and tell them it’s all off. That I’ve turned you down.’
‘That would be foolish,’ he returned unmoved. ‘Particularly as we have the Prince’s approval—in addition to our other well-wishers.’
‘What do you mean?’ Ellie demanded huskily.
His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Come, signorina. You cannot be that naïve. Or that stupid. You must know that Silvia is not the only conspirator at Largossa this weekend.’
She said, ‘And I tell you that I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. Now will you do as I ask?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Because it would solve nothing. Infatti, it would simply make matters infinitely worse. I have already explained to you why I need the Prince’s goodwill. Can you afford to have it withdrawn? You are fond of your madrina, I think. Do you really wish to be barred from her house and denied her affection? Because that would follow.
‘More than that,’ he added grimly. ‘How will you like being known as my discarded lover? Is that the kind of notoriety you desire? And do you truly want your cousin to enjoy her unpleasant victory and laugh at us both? Because I do not.’
‘But—marriage.’ She pronounced the word with something like revulsion.
‘Grazie,’ Angelo returned coldly. ‘However, I have no more wish than you to put my head in that noose. For the moment, there will be an engagement only.’ He paused. ‘But engagements can be easily broken. It happens every day. We have only to choose some convenient moment.’ His mouth curled. ‘And I will make certain that the fault is mine. Some flagrant act of infidelity, perhaps, to make the world think you have had a fortunate escape.’
Ellie took a breath. ‘Count Manzini, you have the morals of an alley cat.’
‘While you, signorina, have the tongue of a shrew. Shall we agree that we are neither of us perfect? Nel frattempo, in the meantime, I offer you this.’ He produced a small velvet-covered box from his pocket and opened it.
Ellie looked down at the square antique sapphire set amidst a blaze of diamonds and swallowed.
‘I—I can’t wear that.’
‘You are allergic to precious stones?’ He sounded mildly interested.
It would have been childishly rude to retort, ‘No, only to you,’ so she refrained.
‘I simply couldn’t accept anything as valuable,’ Ellie said, and frowned. ‘How come you’re carrying something that expensive around anyway?’
‘It belongs to my grandmother,’ he said. ‘She promised that when I planned to marry, she would allow me to choose a ring from her collection for my fidanzata. I picked this one.’
‘But you did not pick me,’ Ellie said. ‘And you have no plans to marry—anyone. As the Contessa knows perfectly well. So this is sheer hypocrisy.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It is part of our agreement. Now give me your hand.’ He met her defiant eyes, and added, ‘Per favore.’
She stood in silent reluctance as he slid the ring over her knuckle. She wore little jewellery at the best of times and none at all on her hands, and it felt heavy—even alien.
She was still holding the rose that the Prince had given her, and its fragrance, exquisitely sweet and sensuous, drifted upwards in potent contrast to the bleakness of the moment.
‘Do you have any further instructions for me?’ she asked bitterly.
‘Instructions, no,’ he said. ‘But perhaps—a suggestion.’ And took her in his arms. For a moment, sheer astonishment held her still as his lips plundered hers in a hard, draining kiss without tenderness or, she recognised with shock, any real desire.
Then, as she began to resist, he let her go. He said softly, ‘Your mouth is the colour of that rose, mia bella. At last you look as if you know a lover’s touch. So, now let us do what we must.’
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTERWARDS, IT WAS the faces she remembered. The Contessa, impassive; her godmother beaming but with anxious eyes; Signor Barzado trying to hide his astonishment and his wife her disappointment that a potential scandal had been overtaken and diluted by convention; the Cipriantos, astonished too but pleased.
And above all Silvia, seated beside her clearly bemused husband, her lips stretched in a smile, but her eyes burning with anger as Prince Damiano made the announcement with grave pleasure, and Angelo took Ellie’s hand, glowing with the blue fire of his sapphire, and raised it formally to his lips.
The lunch had been sumptuous, but she’d eaten like an automaton, hardly tasting a mouthful. Then there’d been the toasts to be got through, her mouth aching in an effort to smile and acknowledge the good wishes, whatever their level of sincerity.
Standing rigidly to receive Silvia’s air kiss on both cheeks, then watching her turn to Angelo with the husky murmur, ‘Congratulations, mio caro. How truly clever you are.’
Being lost for words as Ernesto, after wishing her joy without the slightest conviction in his voice, had said, ‘This is very sudden, Elena. I wasn’t aware you were even acquainted with Count Manzini.’
And discovering Angelo at her side, smiling as he replied, ‘But I have you to thank, Signor Alberoni. I saw her first at a dinner party at your house. Now—here we are.’
Later, feeling her face warm in a blush of sheer embarrassment as she again listened to Angelo courteously parrying the jovial demands to know when the happy day would be. Asking herself why she should be surprised, when talking himself out of dodgy situations was probably an everyday occurrence for him?
Now, at last, finding solitude in her room, with the shutters closed against the profound afternoon heat. And the door locked. An unnecessary but instinctive precaution. Because she was still trembling inside from the unexpected brush of Angelo’s lips on hers as he escorted her to the stairs and his whispered, ‘Soon we will be sharing the siesta, mia carissima.’ And knowing his remark had been pitched at the world at large and that he didn’t mean a word of it hadn’t affected her reaction in the slightest. Which, in retrospect, worried her a little. Or rather more than a little.
Telling herself not to be stupid, Ellie turned restlessly on to her side and tried to relax. Her rose had been rescued from the lunch table by Giovanni and
was now in a slim glass vase beside her bed. Something else she could have done without, she thought, as its evocative perfume reached out to her again, bringing with it unwanted and frankly dangerous memories.
Warning her that the coming days and weeks—she prayed it would be no longer—might well be some of the most difficult of her life.
Her most immediate problem, she realised sombrely, was the suggestion, fast turning into a decree, that she take up residence in the Damiano palazzo in Rome in order to prepare for her wedding. And, of course, to avoid any further sexual temptation before the legalised union of the wedding night.
It was almost funny, but she’d never felt less like laughing.
She could only hope that the Principessa would come to her rescue and use all her considerable powers of persuasion to convince her husband that such precautions were quite unnecessary, without stating precisely why this was so.
I just want my own life back, she told herself with a kind of desperation. My apartment, my work, my friends, and, more than anything, Casa Bianca, my house by the sea. If I’d only stuck to my guns and spent the weekend there, I’d have been spared this nightmare.
But even this won’t last forever, and then I can start to be happy again.
And tried to ignore the small insistent voice in her head warning her that her life had changed forever, and, however hard she tried, nothing would ever be the same.
The dress she’d brought to wear for dinner that evening was new, ankle length in a dark blue silky fabric, with cap sleeves and a crossover bodice, the slenderness of her waist accentuated with a narrow band of blue and gold silk flowers. As she put it on, she realised, to her annoyance, that its colour matched the Count’s sapphire almost exactly. As if it had been planned in advance, she thought with an inward groan.
She wished with all her heart that she could change it for something crimson—or magenta, or even bright orange—but she didn’t possess as much as a scarf in any of those colours. Nor could she bring herself to wear the sunflower skirt two nights running.