by Sara Craven
She said huskily, ‘And if I say I still find it—unacceptable.’
‘Then I shall try to persuade you to change your mind. I have not forgotten, carissima, how sweet your lips once tasted.’ His gaze travelled slowly from her mouth down to the slender curves now hidden by the discreet vee of her neckline. ‘I believe, with your permission, that I could make you happy.’
‘A practical demonstration of your famed skill with women?’ Ellie lifted her chin. ‘I don’t think so.’
There was another silence, then he said, ‘I would not have described my intentions in those terms.’
‘Then we must agree to differ. In any case, it hardly matters.’ She took a deep breath. ‘The truth is you wish me to have your child. We do not have to be—lovers in the usual sense to achieve this.’
He said, frowning, ‘Perhaps I sustained some blow on the head this afternoon, for I find myself singularly stupid tonight. Have the goodness to explain what you mean, per favore.’
‘You told me earlier you wished me to—live with you—as your wife.’ She stared down at the melting ice in her glass.
‘But I—I wouldn’t find that acceptable. However, if you simply wanted to change the manner of your—visits to me at night in order to make me pregnant, I would agree to that. But only that.’
There was a further, more ominous silence, then Angelo said quietly and courteously, ‘I am still not sure I understand you. At least,’ he corrected himself, ‘I hope I do not. Are you saying, effettivamente, that you will allow me occasional access to your body solely for the purpose of procreation?’
‘Yes.’ She did not look at him.
He said hoarsely, ‘Santa Madonna, Elena, you surely cannot mean that.’
‘I do mean it,’ she said. ‘Those are my conditions for having your child, and ensuring the Manzini succession. They won’t change.’
He took a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to stroke her cheek, and Ellie recoiled, her heart skipping a beat as she retreated a step. He must believe, she thought, that he would only have to touch her.
Angelo halted, the dark brows snapping together as he studied her. He said at last, ‘So am I never to hope that we will spend our nights sharing a bed together—sleeping in each other’s arms after we have made love?’
She bit down on her lip. ‘Why not hope instead, signore, that I waste none of the time you mentioned, and give you a son very quickly.’ She paused. ‘And I’m quite sure your nights won’t be lonely without me, so you could be getting the best of both worlds.’
‘How curious you should think so.’ He drank the remainder of his whisky with an angry jerk of the arm, then walked to the door, holding it open for her with exaggerated politeness. ‘And now, my dear wife, shall we have dinner? After which, I shall, of course, avail myself of your unparalleled generosity. Or do I perhaps need your consent in writing first? No? Then—avanti!’
In spite of some formidable past competition, it was quite the most difficult meal she had ever eaten in his company.
Except that she didn’t really eat it, but merely pushed the food round her plate as if doing so.
Angelo, however, much to her resentment, ate everything placed in front of him as though he did not have a care in the world, or a thought in his head besides the enjoyment of his cook’s delicious food.
Afterwards, in the salotto, he swallowed his coffee as if his throat was lined with asbestos, then offered her a smile which did not reach his eyes.
‘I think it is time to retire, carissima. I shall inform your maid that her services will not be required tonight. I look forward to joining you prima possibile.’
‘As soon as possible.’ The loaded words tormented her all the way upstairs to her room.
She undressed and washed, before slipping into one of the chiffon and lace nightgowns provided in her trousseau. Then, sitting at her dressing table, she began to brush her hair, just as she had done on her wedding night, seeking once again a tranquillity which was beyond her.
Maybe, she thought, swallowing, she should simply settle for courage instead. Or at least the ability to conceal she was trembling inside.
She had just put the brush down and got to her feet when Angelo came noiselessly into the room, wearing his usual black silk robe. He paused, looking her up and down, his mouth twisting.
‘Is it not a little late for such modesty?’ he asked ironically. ‘Particularly when your virginity is about to be sacrificed.’
Colour burned in her face. ‘Please,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Please don’t say things like that.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see. You may treat me as if I were the dirt on your shoe, but I must still behave with consideration. Is that it?’
Ellie stood where she was, looking wretchedly down at the floor, and heard him sigh, quickly and sharply.
He said, ‘It is still not too late, Elena. We can forget everything that has been said today—put the last months behind us, if you will come to me now as my bride on our marriage night.’ His voice was low and very gentle. ‘Trust me, mia cara, with your innocence and, this first time, give yourself to me completely so that we can remember it with joy for the rest of our lives.’
Ellie walked to the bed, and slid under the covers, remembering with a stab of pain how Silvia’s hand had touched them in possession. Had in the past touched him.
She kept her tone cool. ‘I think you have enough memories, signore. I have no wish to add to your tally.’
For a moment, he was very still. When he spoke, his voice was harsh. ‘I shall not ask again. Let it be as you wish.’
He flung off the robe and got into bed beside her, propping himself on an elbow as he looked down at her. He muttered what was undoubtedly an obscenity under his breath, then drew her towards him, under him, his hand stroking the skirts of her nightdress away from her body as he did so, before parting her thighs.
Eyes closed, Ellie experienced the first intimate touch of a man’s fingers. She had quite deliberately made him angry, yet this initial exploration was gentler than she’d expected—or probably deserved—and she felt sudden shame mingled with another emotion, less easy to decipher.
Angelo sighed again, very quietly this time, and his other hand lifted to cup one small pointed breast through its veil of chiffon, his thumb moving softly, rhythmically against the nipple until Ellie pushed it fiercely away.
‘Don’t!’
‘Carissima,’ he whispered urgently. ‘I am not some brute. Must I be denied one caress—or even a kiss?’
Yes, she thought, you must. Because I want to be able to protect myself by hating you, so that I’ll never be tempted to allow you near me in any way or to want more than this.
But she said nothing and, after a brief hesitation, he reached for one of the pillows, and slid it under her hips, raising her towards him. He lifted himself above her, and she felt the velvet hardness of him in stark and powerful arousal between her thighs, and a shiver of apprehension ran through her at what she had invited.
She thought wildly—This can’t happen. It’s not possible. Then Angelo moved unhurriedly and with great precision, taking himself there to the hidden centre of her womanhood and beginning slowly and carefully to enter her, resting his weight on his clenched fists on either side of her body.
She heard his terse whisper warning her to relax.
Yet there was no pain. What disturbed her most was the total strangeness of the sensation—and the way her untried, unbidden flesh seemed so ready, even eager to yield in order to accommodate him and further his total possession of her.
She had not, she thought dazedly, bargained for that particular danger.
Although her eyes were still shut tight, some instinct told her that he was looking down at her, the dark gaze searching her face for signs of discomfort or fear, and she had to fight an almost overwhelming impulse to reassure him in some way. To touch his face, or his hair, maybe even to slide her arms round his neck.
Which, o
f course, was sheer madness, but, then, nothing that was happening seemed to be real. Except, she thought, for his body, which with one last measured thrust, was now completely sheathed inside hers. His voice saying quietly, ‘Is it well with you, Elena? I need you to tell me.’
And her whispered, ‘Yes.’
In spite of everything, he was trying to be kind, she thought, bewildered, even as some female instinct she’d not known she possessed told her that, if she had let him, he could have been so much more than that.
He began to move inside her, gently at first, then more forcefully, withdrawing a little, then pushing back ever more deeply, awakening new and threatening feelings. Making her realise with alarm she would have to fight her body’s wish to respond to the imperative drive of his loins as their force increased.
That there was an unfamiliar tide rising in her bloodstream, her bones, her skin, nudging at every atom of her consciousness that threatened to overwhelm her, urging her to lift her hips in answer to each warm and silken thrust. To make demands that were all her own.
And then—it was over. She heard his breathing change, quicken. He threw back his head, his voice crying out harshly almost bitterly and she felt a spurt of scalding heat far within her. Then he was still and there was silence.
For a moment or two, Angelo remained where he was, head bent, chest heaving, sweat slicking the bronzed shoulders, then, with the same care he’d shown her when it began, he lifted himself away from her, lying supine at her side, one arm resting across his closed eyes.
Ellie lay still too, her heartbeat going crazy as she attempted to adjust to what had happened. The words, ‘It could have been so much worse,’ were running through her brain like a ribbon unwinding, but she was not sure she believed them. Instead, and with even greater difficulty, she had to face what might have been …
He had done exactly what she’d told him she would accept, she thought. No more, no less. She had faced him and won, so why did she suddenly feel as if she had lost? Because that made no sense—no sense at all.
She turned her head slowly to look at him just as Angelo sat up abruptly, swinging his legs to the floor, and reaching down for his discarded robe.
‘Congratulations, Elena.’ He tossed the words over his shoulder. ‘You have survived your ordeal with great fortitude. Let us hope for both our sakes that you will soon have good news for me, so that you are never called upon to endure it again.’
She watched him walk to the door. Her lips parted to say something—she wasn’t sure what, it might have been just his name—then the door closed behind him, and she realised it was too late.
Too late, she repeated silently, and turned over, burying her face in the pillow.
The following April
She had learned long ago how to conduct herself at all these social events which Angelo required her to attend at his side.
Had mastered how to walk in with her hand resting lightly on his arm, and her smile already nailed securely in place. To offer all the appearance of a cherished young wife blissfully approaching the first anniversary of her wedding to one of the most glamorous men in the city. And to dazzle them with the diamonds and other jewels that would be regarded as an overt sign of Count Manzini’s satisfaction with his marriage.
Knowing that none of the eyes watching them—friendly, inimical, admiring or jealous—must be allowed to catch even a glimpse of the reality of her abject failure and his bitter disappointment. Their mutual ongoing nightmare.
Tonight—a charity reception which Contessa Cosima was helping to host in aid of an orphanage—was an occasion like any other. She moved slowly round the room, slender in her black dress, the drink in her hand virtually untouched, pausing to greet acquaintances, to laugh and talk for a while before moving on, her timing immaculate, her appearance serene.
But underneath it all, her stomach was churning as she contemplated the end of the evening, the return to Vostranto and, later still, the promise of her husband’s brief, monthly visit to her bedroom, conducted as always with cool efficiency and dispatch. Her terms strictly adhered to in every respect. The only verbal exchange between them Angelo’s polite enquiry about her physical comfort as he took her.
Also just an occasion like any other, she told herself, her throat tightening. That was how she had to look at it, anyway, even when it could mean going to him eventually to tell him she had not conceived this time either. Just as she’d done every month up to now.
But maybe it wouldn’t be like that, she thought. Maybe tonight, Nature would relent and her magic trick would work, as it had done only a few weeks ago for Tullia.
And if Ellie’s delighted congratulations to her friend had concealed different emotional strata, she was the only one who’d known it.
‘And you, too, must have a baby very soon, Elena,’ Tullia had declared buoyantly, hugging her. ‘Then the children can play together.’
Zia Dorotea had sniffed and looked on the verge of launching some tart remark, but subsided after meeting Nonna Cosima’s steady look.
Tonight, Angelo’s grandmother was seated in a high-backed chair at the side of the room, and she smiled and beckoned when she saw Ellie.
‘Mia cara, I wish you to meet my dear friend, Mother Felicitas. She is the superior of the Daughters of the Nativity who run the orphanage for us.’
The woman beside her was small and rosy-cheeked with sparkling dark eyes, wearing an ankle-length grey dress and a crisply starched white headdress and veil.
‘This is a great pleasure, Contessa.’ An appraising glance accompanied her handshake. ‘We have always been blessed by the support of the Manzini family, and your godmother, the Principessa Damiano is another benefactor.’
She smiled. ‘I am told that, unlike the Count’s late mother and grandmother, you are a working wife, but I hope that in the future we can also persuade you to find time in your busy life for us. It would be an honour.’
Ellie coloured faintly. ‘I—I’d really like that. Although I’ve never had a great deal to do with children.’
‘But all that will change for you soon, I expect.’ Mother Felicitas’s glance was kind as she rose to her feet. ‘That is life’s way.’
‘Yes,’ Ellie agreed quietly. ‘I—I hope so.’
‘I must go now,’ the nun added. ‘Good night, my dear Cosima, and thank you for all you do for our children. Please bring Count Angelo’s charming wife to visit us soon. We would be so delighted.’
‘Come and sit with me, my child,’ Nonna Cosima said when
Mother Felicitas had gone. ‘You look a little pale this evening. You are not working too hard?’ ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Angelo is spending longer hours at Galantana than anyone can remember,’ his grandmother continued musingly. ‘And still using his apartment in the city while he does so, it seems.’ She paused. ‘I hope you are making time for each other in all this ceaseless industry. That is what a marriage needs, dearest girl, in order to succeed.’
Ellie bent her head. ‘It also requires a couple who love each other,’ she said in a low voice. ‘And who weren’t forced together for the sake of some outmoded convention.’
‘Is that how it still seems to you?’ Cosima Manzini queried softly. ‘I am sorry to hear it.’ She gave a faint rueful smile. ‘I would not deny that my grandson has serious flaws, but I had hoped that, by now, he might have found a way of recommending himself to you as a husband, Elena. That you would be building a life together.’
Whereas, thought Ellie with a pang, we’ve never been further apart. And the fact that Angelo spends so much time in Rome should be a relief, but in another way it’s sheer torture.
Because I know the way we live at Vostranto—the fact that there’s no real intimacy in our lives and that the time we’ve spent in bed together since we were married can probably be measured in hours—and I realise that can’t possibly be enough for him.
Because he’s a man who has needs that I wouldn’t know how to fulfi
l, even if I wanted to, and when I’m with him at a function like this, or at a dinner party and I see how the women look at him, I find, in spite of myself, that I’m wondering where he really spends his nights in Rome—and with whom.
Whether any of the girls who smile and chatter to me are really laughing at me behind my back—the dull wife, not only betrayed but apparently barren too.
And I’ll wonder tonight, as I always do when he comes to me, if he’s secretly glad not to have to pretend a desire he doesn’t feel. Then I’ll close my eyes and dig my nails in the palms of my hands and keep very still trying not to think of anything at all—or feel anything at all which is getting more and more difficult each time. And when he goes back to his own room and I’m alone, I’ll lie awake for hours, trying not to cry, or—even worse—to follow him and ask—beg.
She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. ‘I don’t think that’s really feasible. We just aren’t—suited to each other.’
‘I am grieved to hear you say it.’ Nonna Cosima’s voice was very quiet. ‘You see, mia cara, we thought long before that night at Largossa—your godmother and I—Dorotea too—that you would make Angelo an ideal wife. That you would find your match in each other.’ She sighed. ‘It seems we were not as clever as we thought.’
Ellie was silent for a moment, then she said, stumbling a little, ‘Did Angelo also know what you thought—what you wanted?’
The older woman hesitated ‘Dear child, it was no secret that his family—his friends felt it was high time he was married.’ ‘But I—I’d been—suggested?’ ‘Mentioned, perhaps, no more.’
‘I see.’ Ellie rose, smoothing her dress. ‘It—explains a great deal.’ And makes me understand why there was really no escape—for either of us …
‘Elena.’ Nonna Cosima took her hand, her eyes anxious. ‘Promise me that Angelo is not unkind to you.’
‘No,’ Ellie returned after a pause. ‘Under the circumstances, he’s very—considerate. And generous too.’ She touched fleetingly the diamonds in her ears and at her throat, forcing a smile. ‘I really have nothing to complain about.’