The Impatient Groom

by Sara Wood

  She closed her eyes in pain, her teeth biting into her lower lip as she struggled against the urge to surrender. It was sex, not love that he wanted.

  He covered her throat in small, hot kisses, each one like a wound to her heart. ‘Come to Venice with me tomorrow,’ he coaxed ‘As my bride-to-be. I want you to be my wife, Sophia. Will you marry me?’

  She was utterly speechless. It was the last thing she’d expected. If her life had depended on it, she couldn’t have said a word.

  ‘Answer me!’ he urged. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense! I need to know now. Or,’ he added, his eyes dark with determination, ‘I’ll make such mind-destroying love to you that you won’t know what you’re saying, and I’ll damn well force you to say yes!’

  ‘I—Why...?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ he asked passionately, tightening his hold on her shoulders. ‘Sophia,’ he husked, ‘I’m crazy about you. I wake every morning with a smile on my face because I know we’re going to be together. You know how good it’s been for both of us. You must have realised how I felt! I look at you all the time, I am compelled to touch you—’

  ‘I thought that was how you behaved with all women,’ she said faintly.

  ‘No.’ He kissed her with a heart-stopping tenderness. ‘I want to be with you all the time. To know that every day you’ll be there. I want us to share our lives. I’ve thought about this, Sophia. It’s not the decision of the moment. My dream is of us marrying, having children and growing old together.’

  She felt herself sinking more deeply into his arms. ‘Children!’ she breathed, her resolve fatally weakening.

  Babies of her own. Rozzano’s babies. And she had believed she would never hold her own child in her arms, never be a mother! She pushed a shaking hand through her hair, her eyes wet with tears.

  In her imagination she saw herself cradling a tiny, dark-haired baby, with Rozzano looking down on them both in wonder. They were in his palazzo, and the sound of a gondolier’s love song came drifting in through the window—

  ‘Sophia!’ Rozzano’s harsh, authoritarian voice brutally shattered her precious images as he gave her a little shake. ‘You’ve got thirty seconds to answer. Yes or no?’

  ‘I need time!’ she wailed.

  ‘You’re not getting any.’ His mouth hardened dangerously. ‘How can you do this to me? Can’t you see how I’m shaking? Decide with your heart, not your mind!’

  Flustered, she tried to marshal her senses. In that eternity she weighed up the risks she was taking with her emotions. And, if she refused, the risk of regretting her decision for evermore.

  There was no contest. She loved Rozzano and the thought of having his children made her want to weep with happiness.

  Her eyes met his, locked, and blazed with an answering passion and love. She laid her head against his chest. Through the palm of her hand she could feel the frantic beating of his heart. Amazed that she could affect him so strongly, she lifted her face to his.

  ‘Stay with me,’ he whispered softly. His mouth grazed hers. ‘Be my wife. Mother of my children...’

  She lifted her heavy lids and saw that he was overcome by emotion. Deeply moved, she stroked his agonised face and smiled tenderly. ‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ON THE plane to Venice, she wore one of her new couture dresses; simple, understated and incredibly flattering. And on her left hand she would have worn an enormous diamond, the same misty blue as her dress, set in a terrifyingly valuable platinum ring.

  Rozzano, however, had suggested when they chose it that it would be wiser if she kept it in her bag in case there was any media attention. And she’d instantly seen the sense in that. But she kept sneaking little glances at it!

  Limp, stunned and deliriously happy, she had allowed Rozzano to make all the arrangements for their trip. She knew it had been madness to accept his proposal, that he had been insane with desire, surely, when he’d asked her to marry him. But twelve hours later he still seemed besotted.

  ‘Now,’ he purred, dipping a strawberry in Buck’s Fizz and feeding it to her. ‘We’ve got three weeks to make all the arrangements before our wedding day. Let’s start with bridesmaids—’

  ‘Rozzano!’ she cried in horror. ‘We can’t get married that soon! It’s crazy! We don’t know each other. No, please hear me out!’ she insisted, when he opened his mouth to argue. ‘Marriage is much too important to take lightly. Six months would be more sensible—’

  ‘Sensible! Who wants to be sensible?’

  His eyes glittered and then he lowered his lids. But she’d seen the flash of annoyance in his gaze, and the stubborn set to his mouth. He didn’t like being crossed, she thought apprehensively.

  ‘Marriage is for keeps, Rozzano. It would be awful if we made a mistake—’

  ‘You’ll be marrying a madman by that time,’ he muttered. ‘I’m flesh and blood, Sophia! You don’t know how hard it is for me to hold back!’

  ‘We...’ She moistened her lips and stared out at the Alps below, following the peaks and valleys, the icy crags punching through occasional clouds, the soft green lowland shimmering in the sunlight. ‘You’re not the only one who’s...aroused,’ she said bravely, blushing as she spoke. But she wanted him to know that she loved him enough to trust him. ‘We could...’ Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. ‘Help me out, Rozzano!’ she begged. ‘You know what I’m trying to say!’

  ‘You mean...we can ease one another’s desires?’ he suggested delicately.

  Nervously she nodded and he closed his eyes in anguish, drawing in a huge, raw breath.

  ‘Four weeks, then!’ he said forcefully. ‘You can’t possibly ask me to wait any longer! We want to be together, don’t we?’

  ‘We will be—’

  ‘I mean as man and wife. In the fullest sense, Sophia. You know the strength of my feelings. You can’t doubt them. And think of your grandfather!’ he said persuasively. ‘He would like to live to see his great-grandchild. For his sake, we mustn’t delay!’

  Sophia wavered. His argument was convincing. She longed for Rozzano with a frightening hunger. And she had to admit that it would be wonderful for Alberto D‘Antiga to enjoy the arrival of his great-grandson. Her heart softened. This time next year she could be a mother.

  ‘So let’s make babies as soon as we can,’ Rozzano murmured wickedly into her ear.

  ‘Unfair!’ she protested. But he turned her face and lovingly, lingeringly kissed her mouth.

  His eyes bored into hers, making her senses swim. ‘Four weeks.’

  ‘Four weeks,’ she agreed with a helpless sigh.

  He gave a delighted grin. ‘That’s wonderful! We’ll be perfect together, Sophia. I know we will. So,’ he said, smiling fondly at her, ‘we’d better start planning the wedding of the decade!’ His voice softened to a loving murmur. ‘Tell me your wildest dreams, my darling. I will make them come true. Every one.’

  ‘All I need is a man who loves me and to bear his children,’ she said simply. A spasm of pain tightened his lips and she touched his hand with understanding tenderness. ‘What is it? Are you thinking of your baby who was never born?’

  He leant his head back against the seat, his eyes closed tightly. ‘I was thinking that I couldn’t bear it if anything should spoil our happiness,’ he replied in a harsh undertone so laden with darkness that she felt a tiny trickle of fear run the length of her body.

  Nervously, Sophia blinked in the bright sunshine as they walked through the terminal doors in Venice and out onto a landing stage. A man in white ducks hailed them and ran forward, enthusiastically greeting Rozzano.

  ‘This is Mario,’ Rozzano explained, when the man stopped pumping his hand up and down as if he might strike oil any minute. ‘He’s in charge of the family launches.’

  Launches! thought Sophia as Rozzano gestured to a palatial and sleek-looking boat with furiously polished brassware.

  ‘Buon giorno, contessa. I am very pleased to say
hello.’

  She smiled, hiding her shock at being addressed by her title. She doubted she’d ever get used to it. ‘I’m pleased to say hello, too!’ she replied, genuinely delighted that they would be arriving by water.

  But she was nervous, too, at the prospect of meeting her grandfather. Her hand shook in Rozzano’s as he handed her into the boat though he made no sign that he’d noticed. She perched nervously on the immaculate royal-blue cushions, expecting him to sit beside her and hold her close to reassure her. But he didn’t.

  She tried not to mind but it did appal her that she should keep looking to him as if he were some kind of crutch. That wasn’t the kind of relationship she wanted at all. But...did he?

  The boat’s engines roared into life, or she felt sure he would have heard the loud thudding of her heart. She wondered if he liked her vulnerability because it gave him a chance to be dominant. But she wasn’t normally the vulnerable type. And when he found out he might drop her like a hot brick.

  Butterflies swooped in her stomach and she folded her arms tightly over it as panic rose in her throat, threatening a cry of fear.

  Perhaps their relationship was based on their own fan-tasies—a fairy tale of their own making...

  Rozzano leant across to speak to her and with a supreme effort she produced a bright, interested face for him. ‘We’ll cross the lagoon,’ he said, ‘and you’ll have a fantastic view of Venice, rising from the water.’

  She nodded and concealed her quivering lip by swivelling around and watching the wake of the boat as it cut through the glassy water and changed the calm serenity of the surface into a froth of white foam. Rozzano tapped on her arm and reluctantly she turned back, wishing her emotions were flat and calm again.

  ‘Look. See the bricoli—those huge poles in the water? They mark out the deep-water passages through the lagoon to the sea. And there’s Torcello, the island where your ancestors and mine first settled.’

  Sophia nodded, smiled and remained silent, her mind full of anxieties and worries. It had been a mistake to commit herself so hastily. She knew that now. They couldn’t yet be certain of one another’s love.

  Her brows pulled together. Rozzano had spoken of his feelings with great eloquence. But had he mentioned love? She couldn’t remember—her thoughts had been in such turmoil that half of what he’d said hadn’t registered. Perhaps he had said he loved her. He’d been very sincere, very impassioned. Why would he propose if he didn’t feel strongly?

  Despite all her reasoning, she couldn’t shake off her uncertainties. Only dimly was she aware of the beauty of the shimmering lagoon, and the tiny islands with roses and honeysuckle drifting over ancient brick walls.

  And soon she could see the island of Venice itself sitting in the limpid water, the skyline a higgledypiggledy mass of turrets and bell towers and domes and tiled roofs.

  ‘They call Venice La Serenissima,’ he said softly. ‘The Most Serene.’

  Tears of unexpected emotion collected in her eyes. Intending to share her feelings with Rozzano, she turned to him. He was staring at the city he loved and had eyes for no one and nothing else. She could see that he was utterly content He’d come home.

  The tug of destiny affected her, too. For the first time she began to comprehend fully what it meant to belong to a family which had occupied a piece of land for centuries. Preserving that family line would be almost a duty. No wonder her mother’s actions had devastated the D‘Antigas.

  And now she was a part of that ancient dynasty herself—and would be helping to preserve it. Shaking off her nerves, she clutched her hands tightly in her lap and leaned forwards, studying everything intently, eager to learn something of her roots.

  ‘Tell me what I’m seeing,’ she said with quiet intent.

  ‘We’re coming up to the Basin of St Mark,’ he obliged quietly. ‘There...you see that bridge? And the one behind it, high above that narrow canal? The first is the Bridge of Straw and the other The Bridge of Sighs—’

  ‘I remember. That’s the bridge between the Doge’s Palace and the prison.’

  ‘It’s completely enclosed so that convicted prisoners couldn’t leap over the parapet and escape,’ Rozzano explained, and gave a wry smile. ‘However, the windows afforded them one last, tantalising glimpse of the city, the outside world—and freedom. Hence its name.’

  ‘Cruel,’ she commented.

  His eyes flickered and grew distant. ‘A streak of that cruelty still runs in some of us.’

  Bitterness ran through his words. Startled, Sophia cast a quick glance at his face. There was a hardness there, a savage brutality to the line of his mouth. Yes, she thought, filled with chilling misgivings, she felt sure that he could explode into a violent fury if provoked. She swallowed, feeling suddenly apprehensive and horribly unsure of him.

  Rozzano asked the boatman to stop for a moment and they bobbed up and down gently while she stared blankly, only managing with difficulty to focus on the beautiful pink marble façade of the Doge’s Palace, with its graceful pillars and arcades.

  ‘Just like the pictures,’ she commented as brightly as she could.

  Her heart raced alarmingly as she tried to quell her fears. He loved her. He wouldn’t harm her. But the tension wouldn’t leave her shoulders and she sat rigidly, like a terror-stricken child, desperate to overcome her irrational sense of dread.

  He rested his arm on the back of the cushion, his expression gentling. ‘They say that if a sixteenth-century Doge were to appear now he’d find Venice much the same,’ he told her with husky affection. ‘Now—see the bell tower, the Campanile? And as we move on you’ll catch a glimpse of the domes of the Basilica of St Mark. It’s beautiful, Sophia. Wildly over-the-top, and stuffed with ancient treasures. I’m really looking forward to showing it to you.’

  Nothing was wrong, she told herself. She was being fanciful. Conscious of the long silence, she attempted to curb her over-active imagination and make some kind of intelligent comment.

  ‘Father said the whole city is built on tiny islands and mud flats. Those buildings are massive, though. Was he right? It doesn’t seem a very reliable foundation.’

  And her marriage, a little voice nagged. How safe were the foundations for that?

  ‘Reliable enough to last for several centuries,’ he said, amused. “Millions and millions of stakes and solid platforms underpin the buildings. You look apprehensive.’ He laughed. ’Don’t worry! The D‘Antiga palazzo won’t collapse—I’ve seen to that. I’ve spent a good deal of time restoring it.’

  He’d been genuinely good to her grandfather, she thought. Looking after the D‘Antiga affairs must have made heavy demands on Rozzano.

  ‘I’m relieved. I’d hate to see the whole city sink before I’ve had a chance to explore it,’ she said drily.

  He grinned. ‘No chance! Even though people take a lifetime discovering its treasures.’ His eyes danced as he leaned closer and murmured, ‘That’s my intention with you.’

  Her heart leapt with joy. Happily she flung away her worries and basked in his smile. ‘Behave! And get on with the commentary or I’ll hitch a lift on a tour boat.’

  ‘You English have no soul!’ he reproached with a theatrical sigh. ‘OK, I surrender. Commentary. Stating the obvious, we’re coming to the Canalazzo—the Grand Canal. Look and be amazed.’

  She did, and she was. Nothing had prepared her for the images which were unfolding before her eyes. As they entered the broad canal, they became part of the pageant of sleek launches and gondolas, little ferries and huge barges which bustled up and down the waterway. And on either side soared the palaces, each one different and forming a magical backdrop to the busy scene.

  ‘That’s Ca’ Barbarigo—seventeenth-century, Ca‘ Dario—with a fifteenth-century facade on an older, Gothic building, Ca’ Grande—sixteenth-century...that one there’s twelfth, that’s thirteenth-century...’

  Her head was spinning as he named them in loving tones, almost as if they all belonged t
o him personally. And she began to realise for the first time the enormity of what she was taking on and how much she would need Rozzano’s good advice.

  ‘I could look on this scene for the rest of my life and never tire of it,’ she said softly.

  ‘I think that could be arranged!’ he teased. ‘And... ah...what about this palazzo? Interesting, do you think?’

  She followed his pointing finger and sighed in pleasure. ‘For once you’ve made an understatement. It’s fabulous.’

  It rose majestically, five storeys high from the canal, boasting a dozen blue and white striped bricoli and several small landing stages sheltered by royal-blue awnings. Above a vast arched door that met in a graceful point were delicate stone balconies with pillars surrounding tall arched windows, each of which was intricately latticed.

  ‘Glad you think so.’ Rozzano’s voice had shaken a little. She turned enquiringly, but his eyes were fixed keenly ahead on the honey-coloured building as the launch turned towards it. And his smile was beatific as he said, ‘This has been my home for the past five years.’

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘Now I understand your eagerness to come home to your palazzo!’ she said enviously.

  He gave an enigmatic smile and, to her surprise, he motioned the boatman to tie up to the jetty.

  ‘Is this where we get off?’ she asked. ‘Are we to walk to the D’Antiga palace?’

  She felt a slight disappointment. It would have been lovely if her grandfather’s house had been on the Grand Canal itself, but it seemed it must be in the maze of back alleys and canals beyond.

  ‘Only the Doge’s palace is called a palazzo. All the other palaces are called “houses”. And this particular one,’ he said softly, as he handed her onto the landing stage, ‘is the Ca’ D‘Antiga.’

  Astonished, she whirled, alerted by the love in his voice and the passion lurking in his eyes. A fool could have deduced that he felt deeply about this breathtaking palace.

  And yet it didn’t belong to him. Her grandfather owned it...and one day it would be hers. She shivered despite the warmth of the sun. Something was nagging in the back of her brain. A terrible, treacherous thought that she wouldn’t allow to surface.