‘Do you do that often?’ asked Alicia.
He shrugged. ‘There is always a first time.’ He looked up at a knock on the door. ‘Avanti.’
Giacomo came in, and with a bow to Alicia surprised her by speaking to Francesco in careful, heavily accented English. ‘I informed the hotel that Signor Davies sleeps here tonight. Teresa has prepared the room used by the contessa.’
‘Grazie, Giacomo,’ said Francesco. ‘We need nothing more tonight. Unless you would like more tea, carina?’ he said to Alicia.
She shook her head and smiled at the small, neat man. ‘Grazie, Giacomo.’
He bowed, smiling, picked up the tray, wished them goodnight, and went out.
‘You’re a high-handed lot,’ said Gareth dryly, and eyed his half-empty brandy glass. ‘Thanks—I didn’t fancy driving back down to the hotel tonight.’ He grimaced. ‘But I wish you’d put me somewhere less grand than the contessa’s room!’
Francesco laughed. ‘Giacomo meant Alicia’s old room. My wife is contessa now.’
‘Hallelujah, so she is.’ Gareth got up and swept Alicia a mocking bow. ‘Is Your Highness feeling better now?’
‘Yes, I am—but any more of that and you won’t be,’ she retorted, scowling.
Gareth was suddenly very sober. ‘Look, just so you both know, I’ll never say a word, I promise.’
‘I know that,’ Alicia assured him, and exchanged a look with her husband. ‘Actually, since we’re going to have another shot at our marriage—’
‘One which will succeed this time,’ said Francesco with supreme confidence.
‘It had better, after all this trouble,’ she said wryly. ‘But the people who matter deserve to know what went wrong last time. I could never even tell Bron before, because I thought—and I apologise humbly to her memory—that the tacky gift which caused the trouble came from the contessa. But she left me the legacy of truth along with her pearls, so I want everyone to hear it. You agree, Francesco?’
‘I do,’ he said positively, and sighed impatiently. ‘If you had known this truth sooner, we could have been reconciled years ago. I was an arrogant fool. I should have ignored my pride and continued searching for you.’
‘Yes, you should,’ she said tartly. ‘As I said before, I wasn’t in hiding.’
‘You could hardly blame him for giving up when for years you kept on refusing to have anything to do with him,’ put in Gareth.
Alicia rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve changed your tune!’
He shrugged. ‘Just trying to be fair.’
‘That’s rich, when you tried to kill Francesco earlier on.’
He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t have all the facts then.’
‘I will return to Cardiff with Alicia, and we shall tell our story together so that all may know the facts,’ said Francesco firmly, and looked down into her pale face. ‘And now, contessa, I think you should be in bed.’
‘He’s right, Lally,’ said Gareth, and smiled crookedly at Francesco. ‘You look as if a lie down wouldn’t go amiss too.’
‘Which is hardly surprising,’ Francesco retorted, fingering his jaw.
Alicia got to her feet, ignoring both pairs of hands outstretched to help her.
‘After crushing you, it is only fair I carry you,’ said Francesco firmly, but Alicia waved him away.
‘If you gentlemen walk upstairs either side of me, I’ll be fine,’ she assured him. Even if Francesco could manage the feat in his present condition, it would be asking too much of Gareth to see her carried off to bed in her husband’s arms.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NEXT morning Alicia longed to give in when Francesco tried to persuade her to stay in bed. Instead, she showered, dressed in jeans and T-shirt, and ignored Francesco’s protests as she used her concealing cream on his bruised jaw instead of her freckles.
‘Luckily my bruises don’t show,’ she told him. ‘I sat down with a bit of a thump when I broke your fall.’
‘For which I am most grateful.’ He slid a caressing hand over her bottom. ‘I shall look forward to kissing your bruises better.’
She grinned in such open delight at the idea he caught her to him and kissed her hard.
‘Ti amo,’ he whispered.
They went out on the terrazzo to join their guest for breakfast, where discussion centred on Francesco’s promising local rugby-club, and the success rate of the club Gareth played for. When he got up to leave, with reiterated thanks and apologies, Alicia kissed Gareth’s cheek, sent her love to his parents, and then stood with Francesco at the great door to wave him on his way.
‘Now, sposa mia, you go back to bed,’ said Francesco in a tone which told her not to argue.
‘But I’m fine—it’s you who should be in bed.’
‘And I shall be, this afternoon. With you,’ he promised, kissing her. ‘But you had a shock last night. You need a rest.’
‘Just until lunchtime, then.’ She yawned. ‘I had to get up this morning, otherwise Gareth would have been in an even worse state of remorse.’
‘Davverro. Gareth said this to me when you went to see Bianca and Zia Luisa. He also asked us to keep his visit secret from his family,’ Francesco informed her as they went slowly upstairs. ‘They have no idea that he decided to come here.’
‘Oh Lord!’ Alicia groaned. ‘And he didn’t tell me that, because he knew I’d argue. I’m so tired of secrets, Francesco.’ She eyed him hopefully as they reached their room. ‘Do I really have to go to bed?’
The look Francesco gave her silenced her as he turned the covers back. ‘Do this to please me, innamorata.’
Because she could resist neither the smile nor the endearment—and she really liked the idea anyway—Alicia meekly took off her shirt and jeans and slid under the covers to lean back against the pillows Francesco had piled ready. ‘Won’t you stay with me, darling?’
Francesco bent to kiss her. ‘Do not tempt me. I will report to Zia and Bianca that I am unharmed, then come back later. Allora; is there more you need?’
She tried a coaxing smile. ‘I’ve got some books in my holdall.’
He shook his head. ‘No reading. Sleep.’
‘Oh, very well,’ she sighed, and wagged an admonishing finger. ‘But don’t expect to get your way every time, Signor Conte.’
He laughed and bent to kiss her again. ‘I would so much like to stay here with you, but I have certain arrangements to make. Now rest.’
The arrangements Francesco made were to delegate his workload to the staff who manned his offices in the town, so that for the remainder of Alicia’s holiday he could spend every moment possible with his wife, leaving her only when she rang her mother or Meg for a chat, or took the daily Italian lesson she insisted on with a delighted Bianca. Francesco drove Alicia down into the town to shop for gifts to take home, took her on a tour of his vineyards and the small marble-quarry he owned, and also to the small, idyllically situated rugby club to meet the young, enthusiastic team.
And on every possible occasion he introduced her to everyone they met, either as ‘la mia sposa’ or ‘la mia Contessa’, as appropriate—both of which gave Alicia a terrific buzz, she confided to Francesco in private later. They attended mass with Zia Luisa and Bianca, and short of taking out a notice in the local newspaper Francesco made it very clear to the citizens of Montedaluca that he was reunited with his young wife.
The night before they were due to fly back to the UK there was an air of desperation in Alicia’s response to Francesco when they made love. Afterwards, when they lay quiet in each other’s arms, he gazed down into her eyes, one hand smoothing her tumbled hair.
‘Che cosa, amore?’
‘I’m afraid,’ she said huskily, and buried her face against his chest.
‘Afraid? Of what, Alicia?’
‘That when we leave here something will go wrong.’ She caressed his hard, muscular chest as she raised her head. ‘I know it’s illogical, but here in the castello it feels like an enchanted worl
d; isolated from everyday life.’
‘And once we leave here you think this enchantment will vanish?’ He drew her closer when she nodded. ‘I have told you, carissima, that I will let nothing come between us again. Ever. I swear this to you.’ He smiled down at her. ‘We have survived attack by Gareth, and told him the truth. He no longer feels quite so hostile towards me, and his feelings for you have apparently reverted to brotherly again, thank God. Perhaps once we tell our story to your mother, also to Megan and her parents, they also will not be hostile.’
Alicia was silent for a while in Francesco’s embrace, feeling his heart beating against hers. ‘My mother will want what I want this time round, so will Meg,’ she said quietly at last. ‘And I would naturally prefer that everyone wishes us both well, but, even if they don’t, nothing will keep me away from you again, Francesco.’
‘Grazie, amore,’ he said huskily, and kissed her in passionate gratitude. ‘We have wasted so much time apart, I grudge any minute in future that you are not here with me.’
‘Me too. But I’ll have to work out my full notice period, plus any extra time needed to show the ropes to my successor,’ she said with a sigh. ‘But what do I tell people? I’m supposed to be divorced, remember?’
‘Tell those you think important that we were just separato, and now we are no longer,’ he said simply. ‘And will never be again,’ he added, and kissed her so possessively that she forgot her qualms and surrendered to the joy and heat of a passion she responded to with heart, body and soul. They soared together to such a pinnacle of ecstasy that, after the final wave of sensation engulfed them in climactic bliss, sleep overtook them before they could bear to separate.
The following morning Bianca knocked on their door while Alicia was in the shower to inform Francesco that the signora was unwell, and she had taken the liberty of ringing Dr Alva.
‘Bene, that was most wise,’ he said instantly, and smiled reassuringly at Alicia as she emerged, wrapped in a bath towel. ‘Zia is not feeling well—her heart gives her trouble sometimes.’ He turned back to Bianca. ‘She has been taking her medication?’
‘Of course, signore. I make sure of that.’ Bianca smiled ruefully. ‘She insists that her little pain is indigestion after indulging too much at dinner last night. But I do not like her colour, and her pulse is fast.’
‘You were wise to ring for the doctor,’ Francesco assured her.
‘You go and see to Zia, darling,’ said Alicia anxiously. ‘I’ll get dressed and finish my packing.’
But by the time they should have been leaving for the airport Zia Luisa was no better, and at last the doctor advised transferring her to the local hospital, at which point Alicia insisted Francesco accompanied his great-aunt.
‘Giacomo can drive me to Pisa. You’re needed here,’ she said firmly. ‘You can follow me to Cardiff when Zia is better.’
Francesco held her close. ‘I am torn in two pieces,’ he said huskily. ‘But you are right. I must stay. Ring me as soon as you arrive,’ he added. ‘I will be at the hospital until I am sure Zia is out of danger.’
Alicia gave in, kissed him quickly, then made a brief visit to Zia Luisa, who lay pale and breathless on her bed, beads of perspiration on her forehead.
‘It is so stupid, piccola. I do not want the hospital.’
‘Best to make sure. Francesco and Bianca will be right there with you.’ Alicia bent to kiss the soft, wrinkled cheek. ‘I need you in good shape by the time I come back.’
The faded eyes gleamed. ‘You are coming back to stay?’
Alicia nodded.
‘Bene. Come soon. Francesco needs you, Alicia.’
‘I need him too, Zia.’ Alicia smiled affectionately. ‘I must go now if I’m going to catch that plane. So, you be good, please!’
If it was hard to say goodbye to Zia Luisa, it was agony to part with Francesco. They clung together in the hall while Giacomo rushed through a sudden downpour of rain to load the car, then Francesco held an umbrella over Alicia’s head while he issued a stream of instructions, and at last installed her in the passenger seat of the Lamborghini. He reminded Giacomo to drive carefully, not for the first time, and to report back to him at the hospital once he had taken the contessa to the airport.
‘Si, signore,’ said the man patiently. Giacomo waited, eyes averted, while Francesco kissed his wife again, then as soon as the car door was closed drove off down the steep hill. Alicia sat twisted round in her seat to wave at Francesco, but he was soon obscured by a heavy curtain of rain as lightning flashed and thunder rolled to match her mood.
In a waiting room at the hospital later Francesco paced like a caged lion while his great-aunt was subjected to various tests. He stared at the elements raging outside, praying that Alicia would be safe. He knew of old that she hated storms. The weather could change long before her flight, he assured himself, his spirits rising slightly when the consultant came to inform him that Signora da Luca could go home. Her own diagnosis of indigestion had been correct. She had been given new medication for this, told that in future she must be extra careful with her diet, and limit her intake of the wine she was so fond of. Since there was no immediate danger to her health, and Signora Giusti was able to take care of her, the consultant had surrendered to the signora’s pleas to allow her to return to her own bed.
Bianca was desperately guilty for ruining Francesco’s plans to travel to Cardiff with Alicia, and begged his forgiveness for the fears which had proved unfounded. But Francesco assured her that she had been right to ring Dr Alva, who, he reminded her, would not have admitted his great-aunt to the hospital unless he had felt it necessary. At her age, chances could not be taken.
Soon afterwards Giacomo arrived back to report that the contessa had refused to let him wait until the plane left, worried that her husband might need him.
Francesco, appalled by the idea of Alicia waiting in Pisa alone, forced a smile as Luisa appeared in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse, with Bianca walking alongside. And once back at the castello, after a journey which took twice as long as normal due to a hailstorm, Francesco ignored his great-aunt’s protests and carried her up to her room. Ordering her to be good, he laid her on the bed, then kissed her lovingly and left her with Bianca—just as the power failed and the castello was left without electricity.
He went down to his office to find some paperwork to pass the time, but found it impossible to concentrate as he stared out at the storm, which showed no immediate signs of abating. There was no answer when he rang Alicia’s phone. Unable to use his computer, Francesco abandoned all pretence of trying to work and kept trying Alicia’s phone. At last he gave up and just sat, willing his own to ring. But when the power came back on it was the main telephone on his desk which rang at last, and he grabbed it with an unsteady hand.
‘Alicia?’ he said thankfully, wincing at the sound of crackling in his ear.
‘Actually, no, it’s Bron, Francesco. Bronwen Hughes,’ she added, in case he was in any doubt. ‘Can you hear me? This line is very bad.’
‘Yes, I hear you,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘We have a storm here. How are you? Has Alicia arrived?’
‘That’s why I’m ringing. She hasn’t yet. I offered George’s services as chauffeur to pick her up from the airport, but Alicia said it was all arranged.’
Francesco fought hard against panic. ‘I told her to take a taxi. She promised to ring when she landed, but I have heard nothing yet.’
‘Neither have I. No doubt she’ll get in touch soon. I’d better get off the line so she can contact you.’
‘I will tell her to ring you afterwards.’
‘Thank you, Francesco. How is your great-aunt, by the way?’
‘Much improved. It was indigestion, not her heart, after all. I was able to bring her home, and she is now resting in her own bed.’
‘I’m so glad.’ A pause. ‘I can’t help feeling worried about Alicia. You know what mothers are!’
‘Davverro, none better.’
He tried to ignore the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘Bronwen, ring me as soon as you hear from her, per favore.’
‘Of course I will. Or, if you hear first, you can ring me? If you’ve got a pen I’ll give you my mobile number, and the one here at the house.’ She gave a shaky little laugh. ‘Now we can communicate.’
If only they had communicated more freely years ago, thought Francesco moodily, a lot of heartache could have been avoided—for both Alicia and himself.
Glad he could now use the computer, he switched it on to check the times of flights from Pisa, and saw much to his relief that, although much delayed by the storm, the flight Alicia was booked on should have already landed in the UK.
But still she had not rung. Francesco felt the cold sweat of fear break out on his neck and trickle down the back of his shirt. His mouth twisted in distaste. He needed a shower. With his phone in his hand, he ran upstairs to the master suite which already felt empty and lonely without Alicia. He hesitated. If he stood in the shower he might not hear her. But he could at least wash and put on a fresh shirt. He put his phone in his pocket and began to sluice water over his head and shoulders. He towelled himself dry and reached for the Aqua Parma lotion he had used all his adult life, his heart contracting as he saw that Alicia had left some of her things behind on the shelf. God, he needed to hear her voice! Then he cursed suddenly in frustration as he spotted a gleam of metal behind her perfume on the shelf—Alicia had left her phone behind.
Feeling queasy from the flight, Alicia was glad she’d had the sense to leave half her belongings behind at the castello. She grabbed her solitary holdall from the carousel and made a beeline for the nearest public phone, angry with herself for leaving her mobile behind. Francesco had keyed his own mobile number into it, which meant she had no idea what it was. Thankfully she had the castello number in her diary. But Francesco could still be at the hospital. She could at least leave a message to say she’d arrived at last, and he’d get it some time. After waiting out the violent storm in Pisa, the plane had finally taken off through turbulence which had clenched her white-knuckled hands to the arms of her seat, and now, after landing here through more of the same, Alicia needed to be in Francesco’s arms like she needed to breathe. She used her credit card to ring the castello number, and after waiting for what seemed like forever she heard a husky voice demand, ‘Alicia?’
The Italian Count s Defiant Bride Page 17