by Norrey Ford
‘No woman. Except Mamma, and she said it dotingly, so I never took any notice. And lately, of course, Bianca, spurred on by this love of hers. Love gives one terrible courage, have you noticed?’
‘Where you first fell in love?’ she reminded him.
‘Ah, yes. I saw you swinging up the Spanish Steps, and a sort of delight twisted inside me, and set me on that breakneck race down the steps.’
‘You said that was because you thought I was Bianca.’
‘Well, I had to think of something. Besides, I did, just for a minute. As soon as I discovered you were not Bianca, the delight started again. I was so pleased you weren’t.’
She lifted his hand, laid it to her cheek. ‘I don’t believe you for a moment! You are inventing all this, but go on. That you take the trouble to invent it shows me you love me.’
‘Hope rises in me. Is it possible you love me?’
‘I love you. I can’t remember when it began, but it seems to have been going on for a long time. Actually, it’s such a short time. Is it enough?’
He swept that aside. ‘Enough for us. We have all the rest of our lives to learn to know each other. I shall find out six new things about you every day. If I ask you again, will you marry me, my heart’s love?’
‘Oh, Marco, for two whole days I’ve been terrified wouldn’t get a second chance.’
He gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently as if he would never let her go. ‘You won’t hold against me my family, my fortune, my terrible importance and my wicked cruelty to my poor little sister?’
‘I promise I won’t. I’ll be happy as long as you give me the one thing that matters—yourself.’
‘That I have already done.’ He kissed her now, a long, deep kiss, so different from that other, earlier kiss. A kiss born now of returned love, trust given and giving; of tenderness and joy.
The moon sent a questing beam across the white carpet, and to the foot of the wide desk. ‘It’s late,’ he said reluctantly, ‘and Mamma must be weary of listening to the perfections of one Paolo. So let us go and tell her about us.’
His arm round her waist, her head on his shoulder, they crossed the terrace, where the scent of lilies hung on the night air. How difficult this man was to understand, Jan thought, her heart alight with pure happiness. But how well worth understanding after all.
The masquerade was over. This was real at last.