His Reluctant Bride

by Sara Craven

  She thought, Everything’s changing…and shivered.

  She also noticed that two places had been set at the table.

  ‘His Excellency comes soon,’ Emilia told her. ‘He swims.’

  Yes, thought Laura, biting her lip, fighting the sudden image in her mind. He—told me.

  For a moment she let herself wonder what would happen if she went down to the pool and joined him there.

  ‘I’ve come for my swimming lesson,’ she could say as she slid down into the water, and into his arms…

  She shook herself mentally. She would never behave in such a way, not in a thousand years, so it was crazy even to think like that. And futile too.

  A woman in Perugia, Paolo had said.

  The lone wolf off hunting his prey, she thought. Looking for a mate.

  And that, she told herself forcibly, her mind flinching, was definitely a no-go area. How the Count Ramontella chose to amuse himself was his own affair. And at least she had ensured that she would not be providing his entertainment, however shamefully tempting that might be.

  At that moment Alessio arrived, striding up the steps from the pool, damp hair gleaming and a towel flung over his bare shoulder. He was even wearing, she saw, the same ancient white shorts as on the day of her arrival.

  ‘Buon giorno.’ He took the seat opposite, the dark gaze scanning her mockingly. ‘You did not join me in the pool this morning.’

  ‘I hardly think you expected me to,’ Laura retorted coolly, refusing to think about how close a call it had been.

  ‘I expect very little,’ he said. ‘In that way I am sometimes pleasantly surprised.’ His eyes sharpened a little. ‘I hope you slept well, but it does not seem so. You have shadows under your eyes.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly, helping herself to orange juice. ‘But I think the heat’s beginning to get to me. I’ll be glad to go home.’

  ‘Yet for Paolo, this is home,’ he reminded her softly. ‘So maybe you should try to accustom yourself to our climate, hmm?’

  She glanced back at the hills. ‘At the moment it seems a little unpredictable.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We are undoubtedly going to have a storm.’ He poured himself some coffee. ‘Are you afraid of thunder, Laura mia?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looked down at her plate. ‘And sometimes a storm can—clear the air.’

  ‘Or breed more storms.’ He paused. ‘Did you say a fond goodbye to your innamorato this morning?’

  ‘He’s going for lunch with friends,’ she said. ‘Not trekking in the Himalayas.’

  ‘Both can be equally dangerous. I suspect that my aunt may have arranged for Beatrice Manzone to be present.’ He paused. ‘Does that disturb you?’

  She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Paolo is old enough to make his own decisions. I—I simply have to trust him to do that.’

  ‘How admirable you are, mia cara.’ His tone was sardonic. He finished his coffee in a single swallow, and rose. ‘And now I too must leave you. But, unlike Paolo, you are in safe hands.’ He gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Guillermo and Emilia will look after you well.’

  But when are you coming back? She thought it, but did not say it. Could not say it.

  She watched him disappear into the house, and pushed her food away untouched as pain twisted inside her. There was so much, she thought, that she dared not let him see. So much that would still haunt her even when the width of Europe divided them—and when she herself was long forgotten.

  It was going to be, she told herself unhappily, a very long day.

  In fact, it seemed endless. She didn’t even have Caio’s company, as the Signora had chosen to reclaim him that morning, announcing imperiously that he would be accompanying them to Trasimeno. Laura had seen him struggling, his small face woebegone as he was carried inexorably to the car.

  She spent some time by the pool, but soon gave it up as a bad job. The clouds had begun to gather in earnest, accompanied now by a strong, gusting wind, and even a few spots of rain, so she gathered up her things and returned to the villa.

  She’d finished Mansfield Park so she went along to Alessio’s library and returned it, borrowing Pride and Prejudice instead. She knew the story so well, she thought, that she could easily read it before it was time for her to leave.

  She lingered for a while looking round the room. It seemed to vibrate with his presence. Any moment now, she thought, he would stride in, flinging himself into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, and pulling the laptop computer towards him, the dark face absorbed.

  The desk itself was immaculately tidy. Besides the laptop, it held only a tray containing a few sheets of the Arleschi Bank’s headed notepaper, and that leather-bound copy of Petrarch’s poetry that he’d been reading.

  She opened the book at random, and tried to decipher some of the lines, but it was hopeless—rather like the love the poems described, she told herself wryly.

  From the eyes to the heart, she thought, the words echoing sadly in her mind. How simple—and how fatal.

  To Emilia’s obvious concern, she opted to lunch only on soup and a salad. The working girl’s diet, she reminded herself, her mouth twisting.

  Elizabeth Bennett’s clashes with Mr Darcy kept her occupied during the afternoon, but as evening approached Laura began to get restive. The skies were dark now, the menacing clouds like slate, and Emilia came bustling in to light the lamps, and also, she saw, with faint alarm, to bring in some branched candlesticks, which were placed strategically round the room, while Guillermo arrived with a basket of logs and proceeded to kindle a fire in the grate.

  Laura was grateful for that, because the temperature had dropped quite significantly, and the crackling flames made the room feel cheerful.

  But as time passed her worries deepened. Paolo knew she was relying on him to organise their departure, she thought, so surely he must return soon, especially with the deterioration in the weather.

  She could see lightning flashes, and hear thunder rumbling round the hills, coming closer all the time. She remembered nervously that, in spite of her brave words at breakfast, she really didn’t like storms at all. And this one looked as if it was going to be serious stuff.

  It was raining heavily by now, the water drumming a ceaseless tattoo on the terrace outside. She dared not think what the road from Besavoro would be like, and her feeling of isolation began to prey on her.

  Think about something else, she adjured herself as she went off to change for dinner, even though it seemed as if she’d be eating alone. Don’t contemplate Alessio driving back from Perugia in the Jeep, because he almost certainly won’t be. He has every excuse now, always supposing he needed one, to stay the night there.

  She put on the silver dress and stood for a moment, regarding herself with disfavour. Her wardrobe had been woefully inadequate for the purpose from day one, she thought. And it was only thanks to Emilia’s efficient laundry service that she’d managed to survive.

  As for this dress—well, she wouldn’t care if she never saw it again.

  By the time she got back to the salotto, the storm was even closer, and the lamps, she saw, were flickering ominously with every lightning flash.

  And then, above the noise of the storm, she heard the distant sound of a vehicle, and a moment later Guillermo’s voice raised in greeting.

  Paolo, she thought with relief. At last. They’d made it.

  She was halfway to the doors when they opened and she halted, her heart bumping, a shocked hand going to her throat.

  She said hoarsely, ‘I—I thought you were in Perugia.’

  ‘I was,’ Alessio said. He advanced into the room, rain glistening on his hair, shrugging off the trench coat he was wearing and throwing it carelessly across the back of a chair. ‘But I did not think it was right for you to be alone here in these conditions, so I came back.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘You are allowed to be grateful.’

  ‘I’m used to weath
er,’ she returned, lifting her chin. ‘In England we have loads of it.’ She hesitated. ‘I thought—I hoped Paolo had come back.’

  He said lightly, ‘I fear I have a disappointment for you. The servants took a call from my aunt two hours ago. In view of the weather, they have decided to remain at Trasimeno for the night. Or that is the story. So—you and I are alone, bella mia.’

  And as he spoke all the lights went off. Laura cried out, and in a stride Alessio was beside her, taking her hands in his, drawing her towards him.

  ‘Scared of the dark, carissima?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Not usually,’ she said shakily. And far more scared of you, signore, she whispered under her breath. ‘It’s just—everything happening at once,’ she added on a little gasp, tinglingly conscious of his proximity.

  Don’t let him know that it matters, she ordered herself sternly. For heaven’s sake, act normally. And say something with no personal connotations, if that’s possible.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Does the power always go off when there’s a storm?’

  ‘More often than I could wish. We have a generator for backup at such times, but I prefer to keep it in reserve for real emergencies.’ He paused. ‘But Emilia does not like to cook with electricity, so at least dinner is safe.’

  He let her go almost casually, and walked over to the fireplace, leaving Laura to breathe freely again. He took down a taper from the wide stone shelf above the hearth and lit it at the fire.

  As he moved round the room each candle burst into light like a delicate golden blossom, and in spite of her misgivings Laura was charmed into an involuntary sigh of delight.

  ‘You see.’ He tossed the remains of the taper into the wide grate and smiled at her. ‘Firelight and candle glow. Better, I think, than electricity.’

  Not, she thought, aware that she was trembling inside, in these particular circumstances.

  She steadied her voice. ‘And certainly more in keeping with the age of the villa.’

  Alessio inclined his head courteously. ‘As you say.’ He paused. ‘May I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just some mineral water, please.’ Keep sane—keep sober.

  His brows rose slightly, but he said nothing, bringing her exactly what she’d asked for and pouring a whisky for himself.

  Laura sat on the edge of the sofa, gripping the crystal tumbler in one hand and nervously rearranging the folds of her skirt with the other.

  Alessio added some more wood to the fire and straightened, dusting his hands. He sent her a considering look under his lashes, noting the tension in every line of her, and realising that he needed to ease the situation a little.

  He said quietly, ‘Laura, will you make me a promise?’

  She looked up, startled, and instantly wary. ‘I don’t know. It—it would depend on what it was.’

  ‘Nothing too difficult. I wish you to swear that when you are back in London you will go swimming at least once a week. You lack only confidence.’

  ‘I suppose I could manage that,’ she said slowly. ‘There are some swimming baths quite near where I live.’

  ‘Then there is no problem.’ He added casually, ‘Get Paolo to go with you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, her mouth curving in such unexpected mischief that his heart missed a beat. ‘If his health improves.’

  He grinned back, shrugging. ‘You can always hope, carissima.’

  It had worked to some extent, he thought. She was no longer clinging to her glass as if it were a lifeline. But that strange intangible barrier that she’d built between them was still there.

  Her reticence frankly bewildered him. He had once been forced to listen to Paolo’s drunken boasting about his London conquests, and restraint had never featured as one of the qualities his cousin most favoured in a woman.

  So what was he doing with this girl? His Laura, with her level smoky gaze and proud mouth? On her side, he supposed she might have been beguiled initially by Paolo’s surface charm, but that must have been seriously eroded by the spoilt-child act of the past week.

  And there was another factor that had been gnawing at him too. When he’d gone to post her cards that morning in Besavoro, he’d quickly noted down the names and addresses of the recipients, deciding they might prove useful for future reference. So who was the man Carl that she’d written to at Harman Grace, and what was their connection?

  Could this whole trip with Paolo be simply a ploy to make her real lover jealous—provoke him into commitment, maybe? Was this what she was hiding behind that veil of cool containment?

  No, he thought. I don’t believe that—not in my heart. There’s something else. And I have the whole night to find out what it is. To bring down the barrier and possess her utterly.

  But first, he thought, he would have to get her to relax—to respond to him—to enjoy being teased a little. Perhaps tease him in return…

  After all, he told himself with sudden cynicism, she would not be the first girl in the world to be coaxed into bed with laughter.

  For one strange moment, he wished it were all over, and that she were joyously and passionately his, sitting beside him in the Jeep as they set off to some destination where his aunt’s malice could not follow. Somewhere they could relax in the enjoyment of some mutual pleasure, he thought restlessly.

  He longed, he realised, to fall asleep each night with her in his arms, and wake next to her each morning.

  He wanted her as unequivocally and completely as he needed food and clothing. And he was going to wipe from his mind every vestige of the sordid bargain he’d been originally forced into by his aunt. From the moment he’d seen Laura, it had counted for nothing anyway.

  But it could have been very different, he reminded himself grimly, so his amazing fortune was hardly deserved. And for a moment the thought made him disturbed and uneasy. And, he realised, almost fearful.

  Pulling himself together, he picked up the nearest branch of candles and walked over to her, holding out his hand. ‘Let us go into dinner,’ he invited quietly.

  Laura had made up her mind to plead a headache and go to her room directly after she’d eaten. But it was clearly ridiculous to express a wish for peace and quiet while the storm was still raging overhead, and might prompt Alessio to draw his own conclusions about her sudden need for seclusion. And that could be dangerous.

  It was a strange meal. Conversation was necessarily sporadic. The flicker of the candles sent shadows dancing in the corners of the room, until they were eclipsed by the lightning flashes that illumined everything with a weird bluish glow. It seemed to Laura as if each crash of thunder was rolling without pause into the next, and it was difficult to concentrate on Emilia’s delicious food when she was constantly jumping out of her skin. It was much easier, in fact, to drink the red wine that Alessio was pouring into her glass, and which made her feel marginally less nervous.

  One particular thunderclap, however, seemed to go on for ever, with a long, rumbling roar that made the whole house shake.

  Laura put down her spoon. ‘Is—is that what an earthquake feels like?’ she asked uneasily.

  ‘Almost.’ Alessio was frowning, but his gaze softened as he studied her small, pale face. ‘My poor Laura,’ he said. ‘You came here expecting long, hot days and moonlit romantic nights, and instead—the storm of the century. But this house has withstood many storms, if that is any consolation. And it will survive this one too.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ She bit her lip. ‘But—I—I’m quite glad you decided not to stay in Perugia, signore.’

  ‘Why, mia bella,’ he said mockingly. ‘What a confession. And I am also—pleased.’

  She hesitated. ‘Do you think it’s this bad at Lake Trasimeno? They will be able to get back tomorrow? Paolo and I have all our travel arrangements to work out.’

  He shrugged. ‘As to that, I think we must—wait and see.’

  ‘Maybe you could phone—and find out.’ She tried not to sound as if she was plea
ding.

  ‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘If the telephone was still working. Guillermo tells me it went off not long after my aunt’s call.’

  ‘Oh, God.’ She stared at him, unable to hide her shock and dismay. ‘But you must have a cell phone, surely.’

  ‘I have more than one, but there is no signal here. I regard that as one of the many pleasures of this house,’ Alessio said, pouring more wine.

  Lightning filled the room, and he smiled at her, his face a stranger’s in the eerie light. ‘So, for the time being, we are quite cut off, mia cara.’ He paused. ‘And there is nothing we can do about it,’ he added softly.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE fierce riot of the storm seemed suddenly to fade to some strange distance, leaving behind a silence that was almost tangible, and twice as scary.

  Laura swallowed. ‘Cut off?’ she echoed. ‘But we can’t be.’

  He shrugged again, almost laconically. ‘It happens.’

  ‘But how long are we going to be—stuck here like this?’ she demanded defensively.

  ‘Until the storm passes, and we can reassess the situation.’

  She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Don’t you even care?’

  ‘Why? There is nothing I can do, mia cara.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, I shall let you be agitated for both of us.’

  Well, she could manage that—no problem, Laura thought grimly.

  She picked up her glass, and drank again, aware that her hand was shaking, and hoping—praying—that he wouldn’t notice in the uncertain light. She said huskily, ‘There’s the Jeep. We could—drive somewhere—some place with lights and a phone.’

  ‘In this weather, on that road?’ he queried softly. ‘You are suddenly very brave, mia bella. Far braver than myself, I must tell you. So, do you wish me to give you the keys, because I am going nowhere.’ He paused. ‘You can drive?’

  ‘I’ve passed my test,’ she said guardedly.

  His smile widened. ‘Then the decision is yours. But you may feel it is safer to remain here.’