by Penny Jordan
‘Be fair to yourself, Emily,’ Jemma told her. ‘You and Marco have history together, and there are still loose ends for you that need proper closure, questions you need to ask and answers Marco needs to give you. A poisoned wound can’t heal,’ she pointed out wisely. ‘And until you get that poison of your break-up out of your system, you won’t heal.’
‘I’m fine,’ Emily lied defensively.
‘No, you aren’t,’ Jemma responded firmly. ‘Just look at yourself. You aren’t eating, you’re losing weight and you obviously aren’t happy.’
‘It’s just this virus, that’s all. I can’t seem to throw it off properly,’ Emily told her. But she knew that Jemma wasn’t deceived.
Emily was still thinking about her conversation with Jemma more than two hours later as she wandered aimlessly round her showroom, pausing to straighten a line of already perfectly straight sample swatches. Jemma had been right about her not wanting to return to her empty house and correct too about how much she was missing Marco.
It had been all very well telling herself that he had lied to her and that she was better off without him. The reality was very different: the empty space he’d left in her life had been taken over by the unending misery of living without him. He had only been gone just a short time, but already she had lost count of the number of times every night she woke up reaching out for him in her bed, only to be filled with anguish when the reality that he wasn’t there hit her once more. No matter how hard she worked, she couldn’t fill her mind with enough things to block out the knowledge that Marco had left; that she wouldn’t be going home to him; that never again would he hold her, or touch her, or kiss her; never ever again. It was over, and somehow she must find a way to rebuild her life, although right now she had no idea how she was going to accomplish that. To make matters worse, as Jemma had already commented, she was losing weight and felt unable to eat properly. Emily had put it down to a flu bug she had picked up earlier in the year. She just couldn’t seem to get rid of it.
Allied to which, she had an even nastier heartache bug, Emily recognised. Did Marco think of her at all, now he was living his new life, Emily wondered miserably, or was he far too busy planning his future? A future that was ultimately, and surely, bound to include a wife. Pain seized her, ripping at her all her defences, leaving her exposed to the reality of what loving him really meant. Marco…Marco… How could this have happened to her? How could she have avoided falling in love with him? What was he doing right now? Who was he with? His grandfather? His family? She mustn’t do this to herself, Emily warned herself tiredly. It served no purpose, other than to reinforce what she already knew, and that was that she loved a man who did not love her. She reached for her coat. She might as well go home.
‘What is this I hear about you returning to London? I will not allow you to leave Niroli to go to London. What possible reason could you have for wanting to be there?’
Marco had to struggle to stop himself from responding in kind to his grandfather’s angry interrogation.
‘You know why I need to return. I have certain business matters to attend to there,’ he answered suavely instead.
‘I do not permit it.’
‘No? That is your choice, Grandfather, but I still intend to go. You see, I do not need your permission.’
Obstinately they eyed each other, two alpha males who knew that, according to the law of the jungle, only one of them could truly hold the reins of power. Marco had no intention of allowing his grandfather to dominate him. He knew well enough that once he let him have the upper hand, the king would treat him with contempt. Giorgio was the kind of man who would rather die with his sword in his hand, so to speak, than allow a younger rival to take it from him. The truth was that Marco could have dealt with the business that was taking him to the UK from the island, and that, in part, his decision to go to London in spite of his grandfather’s objections had been made publicly to underline his own determination and status. It was more than two weeks since he had first arrived on Niroli, and there hadn’t been a single day when he and his grandfather hadn’t clashed like two Titans. Every attempt he had made to talk to Giorgio about doing something to help the poorer inhabitants of the island had been met with a furious tirade about what a waste of money this would be, and a threat to royal rule.
Marco was determined that electricity should be made available to those living in the more remote villages, and his grandfather was equally adamant that he was not prepared to sanction it.
‘Very well, then, I shall pay for it myself,’ Marco had told him grimly. But the reality was that things were not as simple as that: the topography of the mountain region meant that they would need to bring in expert outside help, and it was of course Vialli country.
Marco suspected that King Giorgio was being difficult for the sake of being difficult, more than anything else. He could also admit to himself that his years in London running his own life and not having to worry about consulting anyone about his decisions was now making it very difficult for him to conform to the role of king-in-waiting. He was very much the junior partner in this new relationship. He started to walk away.
‘Marco, I trust that this visit of yours to London does not have anything to do with that woman you were bedding?’
Marco swung round and looked at his grandfather, his voice flattened by the weight of his fury as he demanded, ‘And if it does?’
‘Then I forbid you to see her,’ his grandfather told him fiercely. ‘The future King of Niroli does not bed some commoner—a divorcée, with no pedigree and no money.’
‘No one tells me who I can and cannot take to my bed, Grandfather, not even you.’ Marco didn’t wait to hear what the older man might say in reply. Instead he strode out of the room, fighting to dampen down the heat of the fury burning along his veins. The bright sunshine that had warmed the air earlier that day was turning to vivid dusk as he left the palace. He had refused the offer of a suite of rooms within its walls, preferring instead to stay in the nearby villa he had inherited from his parents. His grandfather hadn’t been too pleased about that, but Marco had refused to give in. It was very important to him that he retained his privacy and independence. However, right now, it wasn’t the villa he was heading for as he climbed into his personal car. He was bound for the airport, and a flight to London, despite his grandfather’s opposition. How dared Giorgio attempt to tell him that he couldn’t sleep with Emily? He glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his car. It would be early evening in London, just after six o’clock. Emily would most probably have left her shop and be on her way home.
Emily! It hadn’t needed his grandfather’s mention of her to bring her into his thoughts. Indeed, it had surprised and disconcerted him to discover just how much she had been there since they had parted. It was only because he was discovering that he wasn’t enjoying sleeping alone, he assured himself. The fact that Emily was so constantly in his thoughts was simply his mind playing tricks and had no personal relevance for him.
He turned his thoughts back to his grandfather; despite his frustration with the older man’s arrogant and domineering attitude, he was very aware that the king was not in the best of health. He must continue to temper his reaction to him as much as he could. But it wasn’t easy.
‘Emily, why don’t you go and see your doctor?’ Jemma suggested, her face shadowed with concern as she studied Emily’s wan complexion.
‘There’s no need for that. It’s as I’ve said before—it’s just that virus hanging around,’ Emily explained tiredly. ‘The doctor will only tell me to take some paracetamol, and that it’s bound to wear off soon.’
‘You’ve been sick every morning this week, and now you’ve left your lunch. You look exhausted.’
‘I need a holiday, some sunshine to perk me up a bit, that’s all,’ Emily replied lightly. She didn’t want to continue this discussion, but she didn’t want to hurt Jemma’s feelings either; she knew her assistant was genuinely concerned about her.
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�You certainly need something—or someone,’ Jemma agreed forthrightly, leaving Emily regretting that she had ever allowed her guard to slip and admit that she was missing Marco.
‘Why don’t I pop across the road and bring you back a sandwich and a cup of coffee?’ Jemma suggested.
‘Coffee?’ Emily shuddered with revulsion. The very thought made her feel nauseous. ‘I couldn’t face it,’ she protested. ‘Just thinking about the smell makes me feel sick.’
‘I think you’re right about you needing a holiday,’ Jemma told her firmly.
Emily gave her a forced smile. The truth was, what she needed and wanted more than anything else was Marco—Marco’s arms—to hold her close, Marco’s body next to hers in bed at night and, most of all, Marco’s love, and the knowledge that it would last a lifetime. But she wasn’t going to be given any of those. She hadn’t realised just how hard it would be for her after their relationship had ended. The emotional pain she was suffering now was almost unendurable; it tore through her emotions like a fever in her blood, burning up her immunity. Every night when she went to bed she told herself that it couldn’t get any worse and that soon she would start to feel better. But every morning when she woke up it was worse. She hated herself for wanting him like this after the way he had deceived her. However, hating herself couldn’t stop her from loving him.
The business that had brought Marco to London had been concluded, and the first consignment of the generators he’d bought at his own expense were already on their way to the airport to be flown out by a cargo plane to Niroli. He had been on his way back to his hotel when, for no logical reason he could find, he had leaned forward and told the cab driver he had changed his mind, then given him the address of Emily’s small shop in Chelsea. He didn’t owe her anything; she had refused to let him fully explain to her that his decision to conceal his real identity had been one he had made long before he had met her. Sleeping dogs were best left to lie and, anyway, their relationship would have had to end sooner or later.
Marco’s purchase of the generators would infuriate his grandfather, as would the knowledge that he was seeing Emily, he acknowledged as he paid the cab fare and looked along the pretty Chelsea street basking in afternoon sunshine. So was that why he was here? To infuriate his grandfather? Marco’s mouth curled in sardonic awareness. The days when he had been immature enough to need to infuriate the man he had seen as an unwanted authority figure were long gone. No, he didn’t want to upset his grandfather at all. But he was not quite ready to let go or move on. Therefore a little reinforcement to him of the fact that Marco wasn’t going to be dictated to wouldn’t do any harm. Plus, he liked the idea of dealing with two separate issues at a single stroke—Emily had walked out on him without giving him the chance to explain his situation to her rationally. She owed him that opportunity and his pride demanded that she retract the contemptuously angry insults she had thrown at him. That was what had brought him here: his own pride. And no one, not his grandfather, and certainly not Emily herself, was going to stop him from seeing her and demanding that his pride was satisfied. And his body, which needed satisfaction so desperately? Any woman could provide him with that! Marco dismissed the throb that was increasing with every step that took him closer to Emily. No way would he ever allow one woman to dominate his senses to that extent.
He could see into the window of her shop-cum-showroom from where he was standing. The simple elegance of the set Emily had created was both immediately refreshing and soothing on his eye. She had a remarkable, indeed an inspired, gift for transforming the dull and utilitarian. His Niroli villa could certainly do with her skills!
Marco began to frown. Whilst he had to admit how poorly the décor of his villa compared with that of the London apartment Emily had decorated for him, he could well imagine his grandfather’s reaction if he were to return to the island with her at his side, claiming that he needed an interior designer. His grandfather wouldn’t believe him for one moment and he would think that Marco was deliberately flouting his orders. Perhaps he should flout them in this way, Marco reflected ruefully; it would be a sure and certain way of making his grandfather understand that he wasn’t going to be pushed around. And Emily’s presence on Niroli and in his life wouldn’t directly impact on their subjects.
The more he thought about it, the more Marco could see the benefit to himself of Emily’s temporary and brief presence on the island as a sharp warning to his grandfather not to trespass into his privacy. Certainly in the unlikely event of Emily being willing to return to Niroli with him, he would want her to share his bed. He would be a fool not to, given the level of his current sexual hunger. Was that really why he was here now? Not solely because of his pride, but because he still wanted her too?
No!
He was already pushing open the shop door, but then he paused, half inclined to turn round and walk away just to prove how unfounded that motivation was. However, it was too late for him to change his mind: Emily had seen him.
She was sitting behind a desk talking with her assistant, Jemma, and the first thing Marco noticed was how much weight she had lost and how pale and fragile she looked. Because of him? It shocked him to discover that a part of him wanted to believe it was because she was missing him. Why? Why should he feel like this when, in the past, with other women, he had been only too pleased to see them move on to a new partner after he had broken up with them. But in the past he hadn’t continued to want those other women, had he?
He pushed his thoughts to one side, watching Emily’s eyes widen as she looked up and saw him, the blood rushing to her face, turning it a deep pink. He saw her lips frame his name. She pushed back her chair to stand up and then he saw her sway and start to crumple, as though her body were no more than one of the swathes of fabric draped over the back of another chair nearby. That deep pink glow had receded from her cheeks, leaving her so pale that she looked almost bloodless.
He reacted immediately and instinctively, pushing his way through the pieces of furniture, reaching her just in time to hear her saying huskily, ‘It’s all right, I’m not going to faint,’ before she did exactly that.
Through the roaring blur of sick dizziness, Emily could hear voices: Jemma’s sharp with anxiety, Marco’s harsher than she wanted it to be, their words, moving giddily in and out of one another, weaving through the darkness she was trying to free herself from. Then she felt Marco’s arms tightening around her, holding her, and she exhaled on a small sigh of relief, knowing she was safe and that she didn’t have to battle on alone any more. Gratefully she let the darkness take her as she slid into a faint.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Marco asked Jemma abruptly. Any idiotic thought he might have entertained that there was something ego-boosting about Emily’s reaction to him had disappeared now, banished by his realisation of just how fragile she was. In all the time they had been together he had never once known her faint, or even say that she thought she might be going to, which made it all the more shocking that she had done so now.
‘I wish I knew,’ Jemma admitted. ‘What I do know is that she hasn’t been eating properly. She says it’s because of that flu bug she had earlier in the year. She just can’t seem to throw it off. She isn’t the only one, of course. I read in a newspaper the other day that many people are still suffering from its after-effects. The health authorities say that the best cures are rest and sunshine to build up the immune system. Emily’s admitted as much herself, although I can’t see her taking a holiday. I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been really worried about her.’
‘Will you both please stop talking about me as though I don’t exist? I’m all right…’ The blackness was receding and with it her nausea. She was sitting on a chair—Marco must have put her there, and no doubt he was the one who had pushed her head down towards her knees as well. She turned her head slightly and saw that he was standing next to her. So close to her, in fact, that she could easily have reached out and touched him. Weak tears stung her eye
s, causing her to make a small anguished sound of protest.
‘Emily?’ She could feel Marco’s hand on her shoulder, her flesh responding to its familiar warmth, weirdly both soothed and excited by it. The hardness of his voice lacerated both her pride and her heart. This was not how she would have wanted them to meet for the first time after their split; she must seem so vulnerable and needy, virtually forcing Marco to step in and manage things. Fate wasn’t being very kind to her at the moment, she reflected wearily. She held her breath as Marco crouched down beside her, struggling to lift her head and fight off the swimming sensation within it. She would have given a lot for him not to have seen her like this, not to have witnessed her humiliating loss of consciousness.
‘There’s no need to fuss. I’m fine,’ she repeated, sounding as steady as she could.
‘Don’t listen to her, Marco. She isn’t all right at all. She’s hardly eating and when she does, she’s sick.’
‘Jemma!’ Emily warned sharply.
‘Jemma is hardly breaking the Official Secrets Act,’ Marco defended her assistant dryly. ‘After all, she hasn’t told me anything I can’t see for myself. And, besides, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know, is there?’
None, except her pride and her aching heart, Emily admitted inwardly. And, of course, those wouldn’t matter to Marco. ‘I don’t know what you are doing here, Your Highness,’ she addressed him, deliberately underlining his title.
He couldn’t just walk away and leave her like this, Marco decided. So what was he going to do? His return flight was already scheduled for later this evening. Emily wasn’t his responsibility. She was an adult. There was no good cause for him to involve himself here. But another voice deep inside him told him it was too late for such arguments. He had already made his decision.
‘I came to see you because I’ve got a business proposition to put to you,’ he told Emily levelly. He could see her eyes widening with confusion and disbelief. She was lifting her hand to her head, as though she couldn’t take in what he was saying. Seeing her look so thin and unwell touched an unfamiliar chord inside him, which he crushed down the instant he felt it.