“If Carisa is often depressed, I don’t wonder at it,” Amanda said, holding her hair out of her face as it threatened to whip into her eyes. “She seems to get no exercise, have no planned activity.”
“You know nothing about it.”
“You’re wrong. I was counselor for several summers at a camp for children with Down’s syndrome, many of them only a little younger than Carisa. They had exercise classes, dancing classes, took long walks, learned to draw, paint and even use a sewing machine with supervision. Carisa seems perfectly capable of doing the same.”
He gave her a long look. The tension around his eyes seemed to fade a fraction, though it was difficult to tell whether he was struck by what she’d said or had gained control of his temper. When he made no reply, Amanda went on.
“She isn’t a child, Nico. Neither of your sisters are children or elderly women who can’t get out and about. What you seem to be doing is keeping them so dependent they never make a decision of any kind. Certainly they’ll never learn how to protect themselves.”
His lips curved in a grim smile. “Unlike you, with your independence and self-possession that protects you so well nothing touches you?”
It wasn’t true, Amanda thought with an ache in her chest. She erected defenses because she could not bear the pain of everything that had happened to her and those around her. “That may be,” she said, her voice not quite steady, “but I am not so innocent that just any man can take advantage of me. Nor am I so uncaring that I can’t see it would be a mistake to encourage Carisa to treat all men as she treats you. I did try to tell her.”
He snorted before turning back to the road again. “I noticed. Kissing men is yuck.”
Not all men…
Amanda dismissed that instant mental objection. “Yes, well, it seemed something she might understand without going into unnecessary detail. And I would never encourage her to dress in a way that might attract the wrong kind of attention from men. But I can’t see that a little lip gloss and perfume or touch of mascara will lead to tragedy.”
“You must allow me to judge what is best for her.”
“As you are the judge of all else in the lives of those around you,” she said as she flung herself against the seat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’d think you’d get tired of it. It must be so exhausting, being God and Jupiter rolled into one!”
~ ~ ~
She was the most infuriating woman he had ever met, Nico told himself. He’d like to wring her neck. That was after he’d left her so limp from his kisses and hot caresses, the spontaneous combustion as he plunged into her soft heat, that she couldn’t speak, much less argue with him.
She didn’t understand how very dangerous things could be for a woman, how vital it was to have male protection. Men who could not or would not protect the women in their lives deserved nothing but scorn. He could never abandon his duty toward his nonna, his aunt, his sisters or his future wife and daughters. It was in his blood, an instinct so ancient it felt as if it had always been with him. He well remembered his father and his grandfather telling him when he was barely able to walk that he must protect the women of his family with his life.
He didn’t restrict them unduly. No, not at all. They went shopping whenever they pleased, attended entertainments, enjoyed holidays. Carita had been to parties and dances, had been thinking of going to the university in Milan in the fall. He was careful of their well-being, yes, but he was not dictatorial nor was he smothering.
He was not.
Was he?
“Nevertheless,” he said, his voice as stern as he could make it, “you will refrain from unsettling Carisa’s routine or her habits. You may well cause harm, and you will not be here to repair the damage.”
“No, thank heaven,” she answered with a lightning-flash of anger in her eyes. “You have gone far enough toward adding me to the women you seem so determined to keep from harm. There’s no telling what you might consider proper if I stayed very long.”
What would Amanda Davies do if he really did add her to the women in his life? He could, he was almost certain, make it impossible for her to resist the desire she held in such restraint. It would be no more than her brother had done to Carita.
One seduction for another, it would only be justice. If Amanda Davies came to him, there would be no dishonor in it. And if her surrender happened to coincide with his most virulent desire, well, that would be his good fortune.
He would have to think about it.
It was possible he could not stop thinking about it.
6
The hospital room was empty. The atmosphere was sterile, quiet and dim. The bed lay flat with its sheets carefully tucked and pillow smooth and neatly aligned.
Jonathan was not there.
Panic squeezed Amanda’s chest. Whirling, she ran back out into the hall. Nico was far down its length, walking toward his sister’s room. She forgot how angry she was with him, forgot how autocratic she considered him. All she could think of was the power he held to make things happen.
“Nicholas! Nico!”
He spun around with quick concern in his eyes, came quickly back toward her. “What is it? Tell me!”
“Jonathan — he’s not here. He’s gone!”
Those few words were all that was required. Within seconds, Nico had summoned a nurse to his side. He fired succinct questions, received answers.
Though flustered and apologetic, the woman could not tell them the whereabouts of the English signor. No, no, he was not in the morgue as his sister seemed to fear. He had been allowed to get up, to walk a few steps with crutches. The orderly had left him sitting in a chair beside his freshly made bed no more than a quarter hour ago.
No, indeed, there had been no visitor to take him away. Signor Davies must have walked away under his own power, such as it was. He could not have gone far. Allora, had he not passed out, or very near it, while taking his first few steps since the accident?
Amanda looked at Nico as a thought struck her. “Jonathan pulled out his IV before because he was determined to see Carita.”
“Ah. Yes.” Taking her arm, he walked quickly with her toward his sister’s room. They pushed inside with a quiet sigh of the pneumatic door.
Jonathan hovered over the bed, his voice a low murmur as he spoke in broken phrases. He was ghostly pale and his eyes suspiciously moist. His tousled hair hung over his face, he carried his injured leg bent at the knee and his hand gripping the crutch that supported him was bloodless. He had wedged the other crutch into his armpit and was caressing Carita’s still face with the back of one knuckle.
“What are you doing?” Nico demanded. Releasing Amanda, he strode forward and clamped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder to pull him back.
Her brother winced away, over-balancing at that sudden change of position. Like some toy that had lost its power, he twisted at the waist, began to fall.
Amanda screamed, plunging forward to grab Jonathan’s arm and a handful of his robe. She couldn’t hold him. It was Nico who threw an arm around her waist and grabbed Jonathan’s crutch with the other, using it as a brace.
Together, he and Amanda supported Jonathan until he could struggle upright again. They stood in a rigid circle of three, breathing hard.
Nico recovered first. “Mi dispiace,” he said in rough-edged apology. “I didn’t think. I just saw you—”
“It’s all right, I’d have done the same,” Jonathan answered. His smile was valiant but edged with agony, both physical and emotional, as he looked from Amanda to Nico. “I shouldn’t — probably shouldn’t have touched her. It’s just I wanted so badly for her to hear me? I wanted her to know I’m here for her.”
Nico’s face tightened, though he made no reply. With one hand still supporting Amanda’s brother, he looked around for a chair, pulled it toward them and helped lower him into it.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked in brusque concern. “Do you need something for pain?”
Jona
than shook his head. His gaze went to the girl in the bed, and it was as if no one else existed. If he was curious at all about their sudden appearance, he didn’t show it.
“Bene.” Nico signaled to the nurse who stood in the open doorway, an imperious gesture which asked that she come back later. He helped Jonathan slide further back in the chair then, and set the crutches out of the way, though not so far that they couldn’t be reached in case of need.
Amanda watched while contrary feelings collided inside her. Though she was furious with Nico de Frenza for causing her brother to fall, she was also grateful for his quick action that saved him from hitting the floor. His highhanded way of issuing orders rankled, but she was grateful he had not insisted Jonathan return at once to his own room.
Beneath these things ran fervid awareness. She could still feel the imprint of where his arm circled her while they supported Jonathan, was shaken by the impact of his effortless strength, also his fierce, protective tenderness toward his comatose sister.
How she longed for those things, almost against her will. She was capable of looking after herself, of course she was, yet she ached to be relieved, at least now and then, of the burden of responsibility she’d carried since her parents died. She wanted to be held close while finding the surcease of intimate bodily contact. In his arms, it seemed, everything would be all right. He would make it all right.
Such foolish thoughts, when she had been so angry with him earlier. Turning sharply away from Nico, she moved to stand looking down at his sister.
This was the first time she had seen Carita de Frenza, the girl with whom Jonathan had fallen so completely in love. She was a slender shape under the sheets, petite and fragile. Masses of dark, curling hair trailed from under the bandaging on her temple, and dark lashes, curling at the tips, made a fringe along her closed eyes. Her features were elegantly Roman, with a narrow feminine nose and high cheekbones. Her mouth was beautifully formed, with a sensual lower lip that seemed a family trademark. Even in her comatose state, there was a sweetness about her that reminded Amanda irresistibly of her twin.
“I wish you could have met her before,” Jonathan said, his voice a thread of sound as he sent Amanda a brief smile. “She wanted so badly to know you, wanted to go to the States on holiday to meet you.” He stopped abruptly, as if his throat had closed.
Amanda touched his good shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure the two of you will still do that.”
“It will be some time before she is well enough for such a thing,” Nico corrected, “if ever.”
Above her brother’s head, Amanda met his hard gaze. He held it as if daring her to comment. She firmed her lips, reluctant to disturb Jonathan by arguing, also uncertain of how much Carita might understand in the depths of her coma. Still, it was not possible to remain completely silent. “You can’t know that.”
“Never mind, Mandy.” Her brother put a hand over hers where it rested on his shoulder, looking up at her with a rueful smile. “You really can’t blame Nico. He’s just doing the same as you, taking care of somebody he loves.”
It was one way to look at it, not that she was inclined to be quite so reasonable. She said no more, however, for her brother’s sake.
They stood in silence, watching the slow rise and fall of Carita’s chest. Amanda caught herself studying the flat area of the girl’s abdomen, thinking she could not be so very far along in her pregnancy, wondering how the baby was faring, and if she knew, somehow, that the new life inside her was safe, at least for now.
It would be a beautiful baby if it looked like its mother, but especially if it had the lucky gene mixture of both its parents. Any child of Nico’s would look much the same, or so she imagined, with dark, curling hair and black, black eyes. If she was the mother, would it not also look a little like this one Jonathan had fathered?
Amanda drew a quick breath against the sudden hollow ache inside her. It didn’t mean a thing, of course, but was the natural reaction of a woman in her childbearing years to the thought of a baby of her own. It certainly had nothing to do with Nico de Frenza.
The nurse returned to the room with a wheelchair a few minutes later. This time, she could not be persuaded to leave without her patient. He had been out of bed too long already, she said, and must not overtax his strength.
Jonathan leaned to press a kiss to Carita’s forehead, whispering his farewell in her ear, promising to come again. He clasped Nico’s hand, and then allowed himself to be wheeled away.
Amanda walked beside him to his room, leaving Nico time alone with his sister, just as she would have a little more time with Jonathan.
Her brother’s adventure had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit, she thought. Once settled in his bed again, he accepted pain medication without protest. The moment the nurse went away, however, he caught Amanda’s hand, holding it in a close grip.
“What is it with you and Nico?” he asked. “Why is it you only visit with him?”
“It’s nothing, really.” Her smile was wan as she noted the worry in the depths of his gray eyes. “He was kind enough to suggest I stay at the villa.”
“Kind?”
“He didn’t have to offer, after all, just as he doesn’t have to arrange for me to come and go to see you.”
“That’s what bothers me, that he’s putting himself out for my sister.”
“It’s just a courtesy. Italians are very hospitable, I believe.”
“Not to their enemies, they’re not! And I am his enemy, to his way of thinking. He’d probably like to see me flayed alive for going out with Carita behind his back, much less for the accident.”
“Why was that? I mean, why see her without him knowing?”
“A race car driver isn’t exactly the husband he’d prefer for Carita, as you can imagine. She knew he’d kick up a fuss, make it hard for her to keep seeing me even if he didn’t forbid it outright. Her idea was to get her grandmother and aunt on her side first, let them help bring him around. I tried to tell her we should…” He stopped with a quick shake of his head.
“Should what?”
“Face him, make a clean breast of it. But she was afraid.”
“Afraid of Nico?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Just of the whole family pressure thing, tradition, duty, honor, all that. I don’t know, maybe she had it right.” He gave her an anxious look. “You’ll be careful, Mandy, won’t you? These people aren’t like us, not really.”
“The De Frenzas you mean?”
“They’re a breed apart, these billionaire upper crust Italians, particularly the men. They play by their own rules, feel privileged to do as they please within their own strict code.” He looked away for an instant. “They have so many women throwing themselves at them they figure any female is fair game.”
“As if women have never thrown themselves at you,” she said with a wry smile, “or you haven’t caught your fair share of them.”
He colored a little, but turned back to her with determination in his face. “That’s not the point.”
“What is, then? Carita is also a De Frenza, yet you have hopes there.”
“She’s younger and not as tied to the past, prefers to go her own way as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.” He spoke with assurance, as if he and Nico’s sister had discussed the problem and come to agreement.
“Maybe she can, maybe things aren’t as strict these days. You can’t tell me wealthy Italians never marry super models, starlets or even shop girls because I’ve seen stories in the papers.”
“I’m not talking about your normal millionaires. Nico is the Conte de Frenza, you know, from centuries-old aristocracy. Guys like him may keep a working class mistress now and then, but they marry their own kind.”
“Are you trying to say I should watch out for him?” Her voice was light and half-amused, though it was an effort to keep it that way. So Nico was a count. She hadn’t realized, though the crest above the entrance to the Villa de Frenza sh
ould probably have been a clue.
“You’ve got it.”
She reached to touch Jonathan’s cheek, brushing her fingertips over the soft stubble that shadowed his cheeks. “You don’t have to worry, love. I’m not about to become any man’s mistress.”
His face cleared a little. “Good to know. Because I wouldn’t put it past Nico to be plotting a nice little vendetta to make me pay for what happened.”
“Oh, please.”
“Yeah, I know, too Machiavellian. But he could figure it’s divine justice. You’ll be on your guard, just in case?”
She had no time to answer as the nurse reappeared, pushing equipment ahead of her for checking his vital signs after his jaunt down the hall. Not long afterward, her brother’s eyes closed in the middle of a sentence. His features grew lax, the strain easing until he looked almost boyish in his sleep.
Amanda stood holding his hand, smoothing her thumb over the back of it. He had always tried to warn her about boys with an agenda. That he was still doing it meant little except as a sign of his concern. It warmed her heart, regardless.
Neither of them had mentioned the baby Carita carried. The subject was too painful to speak of with ease when she could yet lose it. That it might happen made Amanda ache inside for Jonathan.
Nico had said her brother would have to marry Carita, though nothing could be settled until she regained consciousness. Yet what kind of marriage did he envision if his sister was not to be allowed to travel to Atlanta with her new husband? Did he expect a legal ceremony only, after which Jonathan would be shuffled out of their lives?
If that was his idea, he was underestimating her brother.
But no. Family was of supreme importance in Italy. Surely the De Frenzas would not attempt to prevent Jonathan from having a place in the life of his child?
Where would that leave her if they did, Amanda wondered? Carita’s child would be her niece or nephew, the only close family member she had other than Jonathan. She would hate it if she was never allowed to see or know the small mite.
The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding Page 9