‘I’ll just go and have a look at him. You go back to your book. And don’t worry, I’ll be very careful not to wake him.’
On tiptoe, leaving the door open, Sofia headed into Alessandro’s bedroom.
The room was bathed in the soft glow of the night light on the dressing table and the tiny figure in the cot, lying sprawled on his back, arms flung in childish abandon above his head, was clearly sound asleep, breathing peacefully. Sofia crept to the edge of the cot and looked down at the small, flushed face, feeling her heart contract with love inside her. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. The precious light of her life.
He was so like Damiano. The same black hair, the same dark eyes, with sometimes, too, the same quick flashes of temperament. To look at him you would think he had inherited not a single gene from his mother!
At times in the past, Sofia had found the striking likeness painful. Each time she looked at her small son she was reminded of her lost husband. But she had forced herself to overcome that. Alessandro was Alessandro. And she would see to it that he did not grow up with the faithless heart of his handsome father!
‘My beautiful baby!’
With a sigh she gazed down at him and let her mind roam over the events of tonight—and particularly the conversation in the car coming home. She felt a tug of very real apprehension inside her, for she knew that, in spite of that treacherous flicker of desire—or, rather, because of it and because of the conflagration it would grow into, for she would never be able to control the flames once they were lit—she must never make love with Damiano again.
This charade he had forced her into was already hard enough. Trying to keep her heart safe from him would take all of her strength. But to sleep with him again? She could not do it. Just at the thought she felt like running away and hiding. It would undo her totally. Demolish her defences. She would end up back where she had been. Helpless and at his mercy.
But what about Alessandro? She frowned down at his sleeping face. Was it fair to deny him the company of brothers and sisters, to force him to grow up on his own? A couple of years ago she would definitely have said no, for she’d always longed to have a large family—like the one she’d grown up in, where there were two brothers and three sisters, with herself the baby of the family. But now it was different. To do her duty by Alessandro she would be obliged to make a sacrifice that might destroy her.
Her heart was beating fast. She forced herself to breathe slowly. No. She must be strong. She must fight Damiano and stand firmly by her promise never to bear him another child. And she must find a way too to put an end to their charade—making sure, of course, that he would not carry out his threat regarding Alessandro. One thing was for certain: this cosy little trip to London, this ‘second honeymoon’, as he had called it, must not be allowed to happen.
As she stood there, these anxious thoughts whirring round in her brain, Sofia was unaware of the tall dark figure who stood watching her from the outer nursery doorway. For, like her, Damiano had come for a goodnight glimpse of his little son, but at the sight of his wife standing there by the cot he had whispered to Alice, who had appeared silently from her sitting room, ‘Just go back to your room. I’ll wait here for the moment.’
And that was where he was, standing unseen in the shadows, still dressed in his dark suit, for he had spent the past half-hour or so looking through some faxes that had arrived while he was out. Looking at some faxes and thinking of Sofia. Sofia, the problem that was rarely far from his thoughts these days.
As he watched her now a light furrow creased his brow. She was so beautiful standing there with her red-gold hair about her shoulders, her slim figure flatteringly outlined in the slippery silk robe. His dark eyes narrowed as he felt a dart of regret.
For from time to time Damiano found himself wondering if he hadn’t, after all, been a little unfair to his young wife, whether it might not have been better if he had never married her. Better for both of them, perhaps, and certainly better for Sofia.
His gaze flicked over her profile as she bent over their son’s cot. He had never meant to hurt her, but he had thought she had understood that his proposal of marriage had been an invitation to become his consort. The Duchess of San Rinaldo. The woman who would bear him .heirs. He had never pretended that he was marrying for love.
For a moment his thoughts roamed back over the events that had preceded all that. The death of his father had shocked him to his core and left him so grief-stricken that he had scarcely known what he was doing. Though no one had known that, nor even suspected it, for he had drawn the strength from somewhere to do his duty and carry on.
But then, from every quarter, he had been assailed by the demand, ‘You must find a wife. You must marry and produce an heir.’ His advisers had come up with the name of Sofia Riccione, the nineteen-year-old daughter of the Marquis of Romano, and the more he had thought about it, the more she had seemed the perfect choice.
He was fond of her, she was young and healthy and she had no sexual past. There was no danger of the marriage being marred by scandalous revelations. And, most important of all, so he had believed, she knew the score. She had grown up close to the palace and she knew what his life entailed, and also what her own life as Duchess would consist of. Duty. Dedication. The raising of a family. She wouldn’t expect some unrealistic romantic fairy story.
But perhaps, in fact, she had, he realised now regretfully. Certainly she had expected something he had been unable to give her. The two of them, it would seem, had misunderstood each other totally.
And then, of course, there was the problem of Fiona.
He sighed now. He had tried at least a thousand times to make Sofia understand what that relationship meant to him—for it was a relationship he had no intention of putting an end to just because it stirred a bit of palace gossip. But she had refused to understand and in the end, quite frankly, he’d found the hysterical scenes and constant conflict unbearable. There was no way he was prepared to live his life like that.
He continued to watch Sofia as she bent with a fond smile to adjust the blanket around the sleeping child. Things would never get any better between them, but at least this evening she had pleasantly surprised him when she had handled that encounter with Fiona with such poise. He had been dreading an ugly scene, but she had behaved impeccably. And he had felt proud of her in a way he had never felt before—though, needless to say, she had ruined the effect totally with that far more typical outburst coming back in the car.
Still, in spite of the inevitable tantrums, making another child with her would be enjoyable. Sexually, she excited him. He had always enjoyed making love to her. And, in spite of her protests that she would not have another child, one way or another he would win her round, for he was absolutely determined that Alessandro would have brothers and sisters. And the first one, with any luck, would be conceived while they were in London.
She was moving away from the crib now, blowing a kiss to the sleeping child. Damiano stepped quickly back, further into the shadows, holding his breath, but she had not seen him. He watched as she tiptoed out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her, and crossed to Alice’s open sitting-room doorway. He heard her whisper, ‘Alice, I’m off now. I’ll see you in the morning.’
He didn’t wait to hear more. Swiftly, he stepped out of the doorway and headed back down the corridor to his private quarters. And as he went he suddenly found himself looking forward to the weeks ahead. Or possibly months. However long it took. And he rather hoped that their next child would be a daughter and that she might grow up to be as beautiful, though perhaps not as difficult, as her mother.
‘I hope you got the list I sent you? The itinerary for the London trip?’
‘Yes, I got it. I was just having a look at it, as a matter of fact.’
‘Good. I wondered if anything might need clarification?’
Sofia looked up at Damiano as he stood, hands in pockets, facing her from the other side
of her desk. This was the first time he had been in her private office for over a year and she doubted if he’d set foot in it more than once or twice before that. But this morning he had phoned her—Damiano personally, not his secretary!—and said he would drop round to discuss the London trip. And now here he was, acting as though his visit was nothing out of the ordinary. What was he up to? Sofia was wondering.
She answered his question. ‘No, I don’t think anything needs clarification. It all seems to be perfectly plain and straightforward.’
Not, of course, that she intended going if she could possibly help it, though so far she hadn’t managed to find a way out. Nina, her secretary, had spent most of yesterday beavering away in a desperate attempt to unearth some forgotten pressing engagement that would allow her to escape without provoking Damiano’s punishment, but, alas, she had come up with absolutely nothing. No weddings or christenings she ought to attend. No visiting VIPs she really ought to meet. But Sofia hadn’t given up. Something might turn up yet.
Damiano was saying, ‘As you’ll have gathered, it’s going to be a pretty hectic three days. But-it’ll be worth the effort, I’ve no doubt about that, in terms of drumming up a bit of extra goodwill towards San Rinaldo.’ And he smiled and seated himself on the edge of her desk.
‘Indeed. Let’s hope so.’
Sofia wished he hadn’t sat down. She’d rather been hoping that this visit would be brief. She dropped her eyes from his and scanned the printed itinerary before her. Dinner with Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh at Buckingham Palace, afternoon tea for her with the Queen—also at the palace—while Damiano went on an inner-city tour with Prince Charles. A visit to a hospital. A trip to Windsor Castle. These were just some of the appointments that caught her eye now. In any other circumstances she’d have been looking forward to the trip enormously. She loved London and the British people, and she just adored the Royal Family. But going with Damiano...? She barely dared to think about that!
‘Of course, the eyes of the world media will be on us all the time.’ As he spoke, Sofia could feel the dark eyes on her. ‘So we’ll have plenty of opportunity to get our happy-marriage message across.’
That had occurred to Sofia too and it had made her briefly wonder if maybe she ought just to go to London, after all. As far as Project Fake Reconciliation was concerned, the London trip could prove to be worth its weight in gold. After a few days in London with the world’s press recording their every move, it might very well be possible, once they returned to San Rinaldo, to shift their campaign down a couple of gears. Instead of the constant togetherness Damiano had decreed, the occasional appearance together in public might suffice. And, in the event of her failing to find a way out of it, that might just make the whole miserable charade bearable.
But Damiano had additional plans for London, plans of a rather more intimate nature, and that was why she absolutely could not go. He would persist, of course, even here in San Rinaldo, but she had a very strong instinct that it would be easier to resist him here. It made no logical sense, but she was absolutely convinced that London, if she was forced to go, would be her downfall.
She continued to keep her eyes fixed on the itinerary spread out before her, though she wasn’t really looking at it any more. Suddenly, she was feeling angry at the impossible situation he was putting her in, at the way she was being forced to connive and cheat and spend her nights lying awake in bed worrying. Why did he always, at every turn, have to turn her life into a misery?
With accusing eyes at last she looked at him. ‘Doesn’t it bother you,’ she put to him, ‘that I’m only agreeing to all this under extreme duress? Because of the threats you made. Because I couldn’t bear to be cut off from my son. Don’t you care that this whole wretched business makes me sick?’
‘Does it?’ He sat back a little. ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Needless to say, he didn’t look sorry in the slightest. ‘Though I suppose,’ he continued, as Sofia still peered at him resentfully, ‘that explains your strange behaviour over the past twenty-four hours...’
As her gaze flickered, he continued, ‘Yes, I know what you’ve been up to ... all the trouble you’re going to to try and find a way out’
As he paused, Sofia flushed. Damn him! she thought angrily. Wasn’t it possible to have any secrets from him at all? But she said nothing, just glared at him furiously as he continued, ‘But you’re wasting your time. There’s no way out, I promise you.’ The dark eyes pierced her face like skewers. ‘No way out of the London trip, nor any of the rest of it. What has to be done will be done, I’m afraid, whether under duress or not. You’ve agreed to cooperate and that’s precisely what you’ll do.’
With a small, cynical smile he held her gaze and elaborated, ‘And when I say cooperate I mean cooperate all the way. Be in no doubt whatsoever about that.’
Well, there was no need to enquire what exactly he meant by that! As she looked back at him, Sofia felt a swift, sharp tension inside her. She cleared her throat and quickly reminded him, ‘I’ve only agreed to a public display. I’ve agreed to nothing whatsoever in private. I want to make that quite clear, just in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten. But you will agree; you can count on it.’ Still holding her with his eyes, Damiano rose from the desk. ‘One way or the other you’ll cooperate privately too.’
Sofia could feel her heart beating. ‘Never,’ she told him as she watched him turn unconcernedly and head for the door. ‘So, don’t fool yourself. I’ll never cooperate on that. Like I told you, I’ll never bear another child of yours.’
He turned to look at her and shook his head. ‘You’ll bear several more.’
‘Oh, no, I won’t! Just try and make me!’ Sofia stopped short and swallowed. What on earth was she saying? That had been a somewhat unwise challenge! She fixed him with a stony look, ignoring his amused smile. ‘As long as I live you’ll never set foot through my bedroom door again!’
‘No? We’ll see about that.’ He had stopped near the door, in front of the framed poster she’d put up of the Primo Ballet. He flicked a quick glance at it. Then turned back to her again. ‘By the way,’ he said calmly, addressing her flushed face, ‘I’ve heard a rumour that you plan to be very involved in the witch’s new production of Cinderella?’
‘I’m involved in all of Madame Ulana’s productions.’
Sofia glared at him and spat the words at him angrily. Don’t tell me, she was thinking, he’s about to start on that next! Did he never get tired of tormenting and needling her?
Apparently not.
He continued to stand there. ‘But this one more than most, I understand.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning that I’ve heard you’re planning to perform in it. Would there be any truth in that?’ he wanted to know.
Sofia felt a jolt of annoyance. ‘And if I were?’ she challenged.
‘If you were, I’m afraid I would have to ask you to change your plans. I really don’t consider it particularly appropriate for the Duchess of San Rinaldo to be prancing about on a stage.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t. So kindly bear that in mind.’ At last he turned away. ‘Now that you know my feelings, I’ll leave you to deal with the matter yourself. And please deal with it wisely so I’m not obliged to intervene.’
Damn him! Damn him! Damn him to infinity! As he started to walk through the door Sofia was shooting daggers into his back.
‘Do you have to spoil everything for me?’ she demanded in livid fury. ‘Can’t you just stay out of my life and leave me in peace?’
‘No, I’m afraid I can’t.’ Damiano paused and turned to look at her. ‘Leaving you in peace isn’t on the agenda at the moment. Anything but, as a matter of fact. So I suggest you just start getting used to that idea.’
And with a final amused smile he turned and strode from the room.
The only reason it happened was because she was s
o upset. For Sofia was simply seething, her mind bubbling like a cauldron, after that unspeakable encounter with Damiano. And it was really little wonder, given her state of nervous agitation, that, on arriving back at the palace from an appointment in town, as she was hurrying across the cobbled courtyard, wet from a recent rain shower, she skidded and fell, turning her ankle badly and landing in a groaning heap beneath a tall potted palm.
‘It’s my ankle,’ she told the footman who rushed immediately to her aid. ‘I’ve twisted it or broken it.’ She tried to move it and winced. Whatever she’d done to it, it was absolute agony.
Within a matter of a few minutes the palace doctor, Dr Gentile, arrived to examine her in the Gardenia Room, where she’d been carried.
‘It’s not broken,’ he told her, ‘but you’ve strained it pretty badly. I’m going to strap it up and give you a couple of painkillers, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to rest it for about a week. And I mean rest it completely. There’s no way you can walk on that foot.’
As she was carried up to bed a little later, her ankle tightly bound and, thanks to the painkillers, no longer painful, Sofia was finding it very hard to keep from smiling. So she’d found her way out of the London trip after all! A little drastic, perhaps, but highly effective. And there was no way that Damiano could argue with this. It was totally out of the question that she accompany him now.
She had dinner in her room, then sat on the bed and watched TV. She was feeling more relaxed than she had been for days, since the whole sorry business with Damiano had blown up. She felt happily switched off. Out of reach. Untouchable. And she was rather looking forward to the next week. Just think. He’d be off in London and she’d be here in blessed peace. Nothing in the world could have suited her better.
It was as she was reflecting on this stroke of luck that the phone by her bedside rang. She picked it up. ‘Hello?’ she said, feeling quite cheerful.
An instant later she wasn’t feeling cheerful any more. It was Damiano. ‘I heard about the accident,’ he told her. ‘So how’s the ankle? Any better?’
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