‘And I was thinking something else.’ As she fought back the heat in her cheeks, he continued to watch her with a darkly scrutinising look. ‘I was thinking,’ he went on, ‘that it’s really high time we started thinking about having another child. I don’t want Alessandro to grow up on his own.’
What?
Sofia blinked at him. And now she did blush, as the colour seemed to rise and simultaneously drain from her face. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she demanded.
Damiano smiled. ‘You’ve always known. We discussed it long ago. We agreed that we should have three or four children, did we not?’
‘Yes, we did. But—’
‘Well, then. And I think it’s time we started trying for number two.’
Trying for number two? Sofia looked back at him in blank horror. Did he realise what ‘trying for number two’ would entail? Surely he’d made it quite plain that that intimate part of their marriage was over, and she likewise had made it plain that that suited her very well?
She was about to say, No way! but at that moment they were interrupted as the bell rang to announce that the interval was over and a waiter came to take their empty glasses away. But that was precisely what she would say next time he dared to broach the subject, she decided as the curtain went up and the second act began.
At last the evening was almost over and Sofia had got through it with flying colours, just as the kind-hearted Angela had predicted. She felt a rush of relief. All that was left to be done now was for them to go backstage briefly to congratulate the performers. Then her ordeal would be over and she could climb back into the limo, peel off her mask and stop pretending.
But it was as she was chatting to one of the performers that her mask nearly dropped off by itself. For all at once she glanced up to see Damiano off in a corner chatting to the one person it had never even occurred to her would be there. The beautiful, dark-haired Lady Fiona.
As Sofia spotted her she was laughing, throwing back her head, filling the air with her tinkling laughter. And just for a split second Sofia felt the blood drain from her face and a cold dead weight settle in the pit of her stomach. Even here, even in the midst of this charade they were playing, her husband was flaunting his adulterous affair.
There was really only one way she could react, of course, and, to her enormous credit, that was what she did. Keeping her smile carefully in place, summoning up all her reserves of pride, she walked over, with total poise, to join her husband and his mistress.
‘Good evening, Lady Fiona. I hope you enjoyed the performance?’
Fiona turned to her with a smile, though Sofia had the dubious satisfaction of glimpsing the momentary look of sheer astonishment that crossed her face. Clearly, she had not expected her rival to cope with the situation so coolly.
She gave a little curtsy, as protocol demanded. ‘Thank you, Your Grace, I enjoyed it very much,’ she responded sweetly. ‘As I was just saying to His Grace the Duke, a moment ago, it must be one of the best productions of Madame Butterfly I’ve ever seen.’
‘Indeed. I thought so too.’
Through her anger and mortification Sofia could not help but laugh a cynical inward laugh. ‘His Grace the Duke’! How very formal and proper! I wonder if she calls him Your Grace when they’re climbing into bed?
She had no time, however, to dwell on that question, for abruptly Damiano was taking his leave of Fiona, one hand on Sofia’s elbow, taking her with him.
He’s probably afraid I might claw out her eyes, Sofia reflected as, with her smile still in place, she allowed herself to be led off to join another group. Not that there was any danger of that. Once upon a time, possibly, but these days she was capable of much more restraint. The anger she felt was less hysterical, more controlled. It was like a piece of hard marble weighing in the pit of her stomach.
No one would have guessed at her feelings, however, as for the next fifteen minutes she and Damiano continued to mingle with the assembled gathering. For she appeared perfectly serene and relaxed and untroubled, betraying no hint of the fact that what would have given her most satisfaction would have been to sink several inches of cold steel between her faithless husband’s ribs.
Sofia kept up the pretence until they had left the theatre, climbed into the back of the Rolls and were being driven away, waving and smiling to the crowd as they went. But as soon as they had escaped from the public gaze she turned a stony eye on Damiano.
‘Well, I really think you’ve got a nerve,’ she said.
At least he had the grace not to pretend he didn’t know what she was referring to.
‘I’m afraid that couldn’t be avoided. She came up to me and started chatting.’ But it was not an apology. There was no regret in his tone. On the contrary, what there was was a note of impatience. Then he had the nerve to add, ‘So let’s just drop the subject.’
That incensed Sofia. ‘No, I won’t just drop the subject! I think it’s something that needs to be discussed!’
‘Well, in my opinion it’s already been discussed sufficiently.’ Damiano’s tone was sharp. A very clear warning. ‘And, besides, as we both know, discussing it gets us nowhere—except, of course, at each other’s throats.’
As he said it, the dark eyes flicked round to look at her, as sharp as sabres, as dark as polished jet. ‘Is that what you want? Another scene like that?’
Sofia knew what he was referring to. That last violent quarrel. And she had a sudden flash of memory of how it had all come about ...
It had happened after an evening of uncontrollable weeping when he had come home late and she had waited up for him, pacing the floor, knowing he was with Fiona, sick with misery, letting her imagination run riot. When he had appeared in the doorway she had flung herself at him, all screeching anger, flying fists and scratching claws, wishing she could destroy them both and end her tearing misery.
‘You bastard!’ she had screeched at him. ‘You rotten, faithless bastard. You’ve been with her again! I hate you! I hate you!’
She would never forget the white-hot anger in his face as he had peeled her from him and flung her onto the bed. He had hated her that night. There had been no compassion or understanding, just a contemptuous anger that had frozen her soul.
‘That’s it,’ he had told her. ‘I’m through with you. Finished. You’re nothing but a ridiculous spoiled little brat who thinks she can behave any way she likes. Well, you can’t. Not with me. I’ve had your childish tantrums up to here.’
Sofia could remember even now the harsh look in his eyes. A sense of doom had enveloped her. This time she had gone too far.
Sick with fear, unable to sleep, she had gone to him later that night as he lay in the day-bed in his dressing room.
‘Damiano, I’m sorry. Damiano, please forgive me.’
She stood by his bedside in her flimsy silk nightdress as he lay there with his back to her, pretending he hadn’t heard her, though she knew from his stiff shoulders that he was not asleep.
‘Please, Damiano,’ she continued, feeling as though she was dying, her heart so full of tears and desperation that she could scarcely force the words between her lips. ‘Please forgive me. I know I should never have behaved like that. And I’ll never do it again. I swear to you I won’t.’
He turned then, almost wearily, to look at her. ‘Go back to bed,’ he said. ‘It’s late. I’d like to sleep now.’
His coldness chilled her. She felt panic rise up. Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she sank down onto her knees.
‘Don’t be angry, Damiano. Please forgive me.’ And she reached for him, embracing him, letting her body fall against him. ‘Please, Damiano. Please. Please. Please.’
It was like embracing a stone pillar. His body was hard and rejecting. Gently, but coldly, he pushed her away.
‘Go back to bed,’ he said again. ‘We’ll discuss this tomorrow. Like I said, it’s late. I’d really like to get some sleep.’
Sofia remained crouched there beside him, torn with pa
in and desperation. She couldn’t wait till tomorrow. She must convince him now, before he had time to harden his heart totally against her.
Again, she reached out her hand towards him, and as she did so one strap of her flimsy silk nightgown slipped down her shoulder, exposing her breast. He had always admired her breasts, which were full and high and thrusting, and she saw his gaze flick downwards for a moment and hoped.
Her hand still on his arm, she leaned a little closer, looking into his eyes, praying. ‘Damiano...’ If she could only tempt him into making love to her, then there was a chance that he might be merciful.
And it seemed he could be tempted. He reached out one hand slowly, as though to lay it on her naked breast, and Sofia half closed her eyes and waited for his blissful touch.
But it never came. All he did was pull up the strap of the nightdress, covering her, as though her partial nakedness offended him. Then he said again, ‘Go to bed.’ And, very pointedly, he turned over. ‘And be sure to close the door behind you, please.’
It had been the following evening that he had told her of the decision that had effectively ended their marriage.
Sofia thought of these things now as they drove back to the Palazzo Verde. It seemed a lifetime ago, though the bitterness still lingered. He had been so cruel, she such a fool to have behaved the way she had, but she would have walked through the fires of hell to hold onto him then. She’d felt no shame in begging him, in prostrating herself before him, for at the time she’d been quite unable to envisage a life without him.
She had changed a lot since then. Grown up. Become stronger. She was her own woman at last, with a new independence of spirit. He could still hurt her, though less now. He would never be able to destroy her. And, certainly, never again as long as she lived would she be reduced to the poor pleading creature of that night.
As the Rolls left the town behind and swept up the winding hill road that led to the illuminated rosy-stoned palace, with its ancient turrets and pediments and arches, she faced Damiano, her anger stoked by these memories.
‘So you don’t want to discuss what happened back at the opera house? Well, that’s just too bad because I insist that we do. Your behaviour was a disgrace. How dare you,’ she shot at him, ‘after forcing me to take part in this fake reconciliation, publicly consort with your mistress the way you did?’
She paused for breath and glared at him, aware that she had spoken with just a little too much emotion. Her accusation was justified—his behaviour had been insensitive—but she hadn’t meant to reveal just how deeply it had upset her. What had happened to all her carefully nurtured self-control? Suddenly it had just seemed to unravel inside her.
Damiano looked back at her coolly. ‘I would hardly say I was consorting. All we did was exchange a couple of pleasantries. I don’t think anyone is likely to have been particularly scandalised.’
Probably not. His affair was not common knowledge and that cosy little tête-à-tête had probably gone unnoticed for the most part.
But that was really not the point. ‘Maybe I was scandalised. Scandalised and disgusted,’ she emphasised angrily. ‘You might have a little more taste than to flaunt your infidelity in my face!’
Damiano fixed her with a hard look, saying nothing, but the beginnings of anger flashed at the back of his eyes. Then he turned pointedly away to look out the window. ‘I’ll try,’ he said dismissively, ‘to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
That struck Sofia as insulting. Her expression tightened as she continued to glare at him, her heart trembling in spite of her efforts to control it. ‘You know, I’m already beginning to regret agreeing to cooperate with you. You’re such a selfish, uncaring, arrogant pig. You don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself!’
He turned to look at her then. ‘That makes two of us, I’d say.’
She saw the anger in his eyes and felt it scorch her. But she tilted her chin at him. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means, my dear Sofia, precisely what it appears to mean. All you care about are your petty, childish jealousies. You don’t give a damn about your position as Duchess and all the responsibilities that go with it. All you want is to be allowed to behave like the spoilt brat you are.’
‘And all you want is to be allowed to behave like the adulterer you are!’
This was bitter, all too familiar territory. These were the same accusations they’d hurled at each other in the past, a ritual of abuse that Sofia had hoped she might never have to endure again. But she had to defend herself.
Before he could interrupt, she stormed on, ‘And it’s not true what you say. I do care about my responsibilities. I just don’t happen to be a hypocrite like you, which is why I hate having to perform this stupid charade! If you ask me, it’s not even necessary anyway. We could easily just have continued as we were, leading separate lives, married only in name. After a while the divorce rumours would have died a natural death.’
‘Maybe they would and maybe they wouldn’t. And in the meantime they’re doing damage. Once the rumours have been scotched, perhaps we can do as you wish and go back more or less to living separate lives.’ He paused for a moment and fixed her with a narrow look. ‘Once, of course, that other matter we touched upon this evening has been dealt with.’
In her state of anger and upset Sofia didn’t immediately understand what he was getting at. She frowned uncomprehendingly, and then suddenly the penny dropped. He was referring to his earlier bizarre suggestion that the two of them start trying to have another child. As she looked at him a flood of emotions went tearing through her. Horror. Outrage. Defiance. Fury. And a flicker of something else that had no place there at all.
Driving it from her, she shook her head at him. ‘Oh, no! That will never happen! Never!’ she repeated as the dark eyes fixed on her, as black as midnight, as tempting as Satan. ‘There’ll be no more children, so please don’t fool yourself! I couldn’t bear to have another child by a man as despicable as you!’
The Rolls was turning into the gates of the Palazzo Verde. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic and impatient to escape him,. Sofia moved to the edge of her seat, one hand on the doorhandle.
‘Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to find a way to bear it.’ Damiano’s tone was flat as he addressed her averted profile. ‘So just look on it as part of your duty as Duchess, which you’ve just been trying to tell me you care so much about.’
The Rolls was sweeping round to the side-entrance of the palace, off a cobbled courtyard, green with palms and potted plants, where a footman was already waiting to meet them.
Sofia kept her gaze fixed through the window of the car. ‘You can’t force me. There’ll never be another child, I promise you.’ An unspeakable panic was rising up inside her, her heart clattering like the clapper of a bell against her ribs. ‘And, what’s more, I’m going to find a way out of this stupid charade and stop you carrying out your threat about Alessandro. The whole thing’s absurd! I want nothing more to do with you! In fact, this is the last time I go anywhere with you!’
The car was drawing to a halt, the footman hurrying to open Sofia’s door for her. But, impatient, she started to push it open herself, getting ready to leap out onto the cobblestones.
Alas, she wasn’t quite quick enough. Suddenly Damiano had caught hold of her, fingers closing like iron bands around her wrist.
‘You’ll have nothing more to do with me when I decide,’ he ground out at her. ‘But in the meantime you’re going to have rather a lot to do with me, I’m afraid.’
Startled, her heart jumping, Sofia swung round to look at him. ‘Let go of me!’ she demanded, scarcely able to breathe.
He continued to hold her. ‘I hope you’re listening,’ he told her. ‘I hope you’re listening well, for that’s the way it’s going to be.’ Then suddenly he smiled and something flashed deep in his eyes. ‘And next week’s trip to London will provide the perfect opportunity for a nice little romantic second honeymoon.’
But even once she was back in the safety of her own rooms her heart continued to race as though it might jump out of her chest. Never! she told herself. What he says will never happen! And she concentrated very hard on her fuming anger and fought to smother the treacherous flicker of desire that had awakened inside her at the thought of having Damiano once more in her bed.
She clenched her fists tightly and made a final desperate vow.
‘Never! Never! As long as I live!’
CHAPTER FOUR
SOFIA undressed quickly and had a shower, then, feeling a little calmer, decided to look in on Alessandro. She had already bade him goodnight before setting off for the opera and she knew he would be sound asleep in his cot by now. But she needed to see him. The sight of him would soothe her. And, anyway, she wouldn’t sleep if she went straight to bed.
Dressed in her oyster silk floor-length robe and matching slippers, her red-gold hair loose about her shoulders, she hurried upstairs to the nursery suite. It was late, but she knew Alice would not be in bed, for she never turned in until well into the small hours.
‘I’m one of those people,’ she’d once confided to Sofia, ‘who only needs about five hours’ sleep a night—an extremely useful quality for a nanny!’
And, indeed, as Sofia stepped through the half-open nursery door, Alice was in her adjoining sitting room reading a book. She came to greet Sofia at once with a smile and a small curtsy.
‘Good evening, Your Grace,’ she said. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’
‘It was beautiful, Alice. I enjoyed it very much.’ Then Sofia nodded towards the door of the room where her son slept. ‘How’s the little horror? Has he been good?’
‘As good as gold.’ Alice smiled. ‘And now he’s sleeping like a little lamb.’
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