by Lynne Graham
Jess stared down at the sheet of paper. Jumbled letters cut from a newspaper had been put together to form a note. But the spelling was so appalling that it was hard to work out the words, although she was quick to register that it had been put together in English. ‘Where did this come from? And who is Rigo?’
‘Rigo Castello looks after my security and the original of this communication arrived at Halston Hall this morning. It’s offering to return my stolen painting for a finder’s fee…’
‘Your painting…the one that was stolen? A finder’s fee?’ Jess exclaimed in disbelieving repetition.
‘I think we can safely assume that the thieves sent this demand,’ Cesario contended, his hard, handsome face sardonic. ‘Presumably they have found it impossible to sell the painting for the kind of money they were hoping to receive and are now hoping to ransom it back to me.’
Jess was still struggling to decipher the jumble of misspelt words on the sheet. Helpfully, Cesario read it out, right down to the concluding assurance that further instructions would follow as to where the money was to be left. ‘What on earth are you going to do?’ she muttered in bemusement.
‘Well, I’m not going to pay for the return of my stolen property,’ Cesario declared with derision. ‘I refuse to be held to ransom by criminals!’
Jess shifted uneasily where she stood, all too well aware that he might well have got his art work back had he been able to approach the police, but of course that would incriminate her father in the robbery. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable because adolescent memories were also stirring and it was impossible to forget the mortifying involvement of her mother’s relatives in the crime. At that instant she was one hundred per cent convinced that she knew exactly who was responsible for the theft of Cesario’s painting.
‘When I was a teenager, my cousins, Jason and Mark, once sent a letter like this to intimidate a neighbour who had complained to the police about them,’ she told him ruefully. ‘The spelling in the letter was dreadful. I think this could be from them and that they must have your painting.’
Cesario surveyed her with hooded eyes. ‘I must say that I have married into a very interesting family.’
Her face flamed. ‘Look, don’t make a joke of it. Think of how you would feel if you were related to people like that!’ she urged.
‘You’re right, moglie mia. That was a cheap crack and undeserved, particularly when you’ve just given me useful information. We will not discuss this again,’ he completed, his strong jaw line clenching.
‘I’m sorry about the painting. I know how much you valued it,’ she said awkwardly.
His lean, darkly handsome features softened. ‘It’s not your fault and I don’t hold you responsible in any way. Don’t blame yourself because your father got in over his head and did something stupid.’
Jess felt that that was a generous response in the circumstances and she had cause to remind herself of that during the hours that followed. Over dinner Cesario seemed preoccupied and he excused himself to catch up with work afterwards and did not join her in bed that night. It was the first time in weeks that she had slept alone. She lay awake thinking about their return to England in the morning while trying not to wonder if Cesario was keeping his distance because he was repulsed by her thieving relatives. It was all very well for him to tell her that she was not to blame, but she could not forget that she was only married to him and possibly even carrying his child because of that robbery.
In the morning, Jess could hardly keep her eyes open and she made more use of make-up than she usually did in an effort to lift her wan appearance. She did not see Cesario until after breakfast and he still seemed distant. Determined not to waste any time in finding out whether or not she was pregnant, she phoned to make an appointment to see her GP in Charlbury St Helen’s before they even left for the airport and caught their flight home to the UK. Her dogs would already be at Halston Hall waiting to greet them.
‘This is your home now, piccola mia,’ Cesario pronounced as the limo drove through the turreted gates of the Elizabethan property. ‘Make whatever changes you please to the house. I want you to be comfortable here.’
It was a generous invitation and it warmed her uneasy heart and steadied her nerves about the future, until it occurred to her that Cesario had made no such open-handed comments in relation to his other homes round the world. Collina Verde in Italy, it seemed, had been her home only for the honeymoon. She tried hard not to read any significance into that fact. If Cesario was rather cool in her radius it was probably only the natural result of the robbery fiasco, because when the thieves had offered to sell his own painting back to him they had undoubtedly added insult to injury.
‘By the way, I’ve bought you a new vehicle to get about in,’ Cesario informed her as they travelled down the drive to the hall. ‘Your car was ready for the scrap heap.’
‘But I don’t need a new car!’ Jess protested.
‘There it is—the blue one parked out front,’ Cesario informed her as smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken.
It was a brand-new, top-of-the-range Range Rover, ten times more expensive then her elderly four-wheel drive and embellished with the most sumptuous cream leather upholstery Jess had ever seen. ‘I gather this is part of my new swanky image,’ she said tartly, turning her head to look at him after she had walked all the way round the luxury car.
‘No, not in this case. I didn’t think that wreck you were driving was very safe and I didn’t want it breaking down and stranding you somewhere lonely late at night,’ Cesario contradicted silkily, making her feel ungracious.
Jess was on the brink of protest about his interference until she registered that she actually liked the fact that he was concerned about her safety. It was a satisfyingly husbandly concern and allowed her to feel more like a real wife than she usually dared to feel. ‘It’s not going to look clean and perfect for very long with me and the dogs using it,’ she warned him ruefully.
As Tommaso appeared beaming at the front door a canine flood surged out to acknowledge their arrival with a flurry of barks and scrabbling paws. Cesario strode off towards the garages after telling Jess that he had an urgent appointment to keep. Weed raced round the corner in his wake—the skinny lurcher, whose confidence had grown by leaps and bounds in Italy, had become her husband’s shadow, and Magic bounced along after them.
Jess changed into more comfortable clothing and went out to keep her medical appointment at the local surgery. Thirty minutes later she had the confirmation she had sought and, feeling somewhat shaken by the news that she would have a child by the following spring, she went to visit her mother.
‘Cesario called in an hour ago,’ Sharon Martin told her daughter when she arrived. ‘He spoke to your father at work and then came here to ask me some questions about your uncle Sam.’
Jess fell still and grimaced at that information. ‘What’s he up to?’
‘Your husband wants his painting back and he’s determined to get it,’ her mother confided ruefully. ‘He told your father that he would try to keep him out of things but that he can’t guarantee it—’
‘That’s not fair!’ Jess gasped in consternation. ‘I have an agreement with Cesario…’
‘And he wants the agreement and he wants his painting back. Typical man,’ Sharon Martin quipped. ‘He wants it all and sees no reason why he shouldn’t have it.’
Jess breathed in deep. ‘You’re going to be a grandmother again next year.’
Initially taken aback by the change of subject, her mother stared at her and then, with an exclamation of pleasure, she rushed forward and gave her daughter a warm hug. ‘My goodness, that didn’t take long! Are you pleased?’
Squashing her doubts and insecurities about Cesario and keen to ensure that her mother didn’t worry about her, Jess fixed a smile to her lips. ‘I’m over the moon! I haven’t told Cesario yet, so keep my secret for me.’
Before returning to the hall, Jess called in at the
veterinary surgery to check the work rotas. She went straight to talk to her boss because her pregnancy would mean there had to be a good deal of reorganisation at the practice. She would have to take extra safety precautions and consider the kind of jobs she took on. She thought it said a lot for Charlie that, even after taking all that approaching hassle into account, he was still able to offer her his hearty congratulations and happily reminisce about his early days as a new father.
When she got back to Halston Hall, Tommaso was in the hall supervising the placement of a very large canvas of what looked like a desiccated tree twisting in a storm. Rigo Castello, a heavily built older man, was poised nearby wearing a large approving smile. Jess gaped at the painting and recognised it at once from Cesario’s description of it. She asked where Cesario was and raced breathlessly into his office with her dogs accompanying her. ‘You got it back? How on earth did you do it?’
Cesario straightened his long, lean, powerful body fluidly from his lounging position on the edge of the desk and made a hand signal to Magic, which made the deaf and excitable terrier sit down and stop barking. ‘Your Uncle Sam is a sensible man.’
And then without any warning at all, and as if someone had suddenly pulled a rug from beneath him, Cesario lurched sideways and crumpled down into a heap on the floor. ‘Tommaso!’ Jess shouted in shock, dropping to her knees by Cesario’s side and noting that he was ashen-faced, with perspiration gleaming on his brow.
His security chief, Rigo, joined her first. ‘Let me deal with this, signora.’
‘I’ll call the doctor!’ Jess exclaimed because Cesario appeared to be unconscious.
‘That won’t be necessary, signora. Mr di Silvestri is already coming round.’
Jess watched Cesario’s lashes lift on dazed dark golden eyes. He blinked several times. Her heart was pounding with adrenalin inside her ribcage. Rigo addressed his employer in rapid low-pitched Italian and, raking a trembling hand through his cropped black hair, Cesario responded.
‘I’ll call the doctor,’ Jess said again.
‘No—I don’t want a doctor!’ Cesario asserted with what struck her as quite unnecessary force. As he struggled to get up she noticed that he leant heavily on Rigo’s arm.
Jess was concerned enough to argue with her husband. ‘You’re obviously not well! You need to see a doctor…’
‘I tripped on the corner of the rug and I must’ve struck my head,’ Cesario countered, dismissing Rigo, who shot him a troubled look before leaving the room.
Her brow indented as she glanced at the rug, which seemed to be lying perfectly flat. She had only seen him fall and it had looked more like a collapse or a faint to her than a moment of clumsy inattention. Not only did his interpretation not make sense, she could think of no reason why he should lie about it. She studied him worriedly, grateful to see that he had regained colour and looked more like himself. It shook her to recall that just months ago he had meant very little more to her than a stranger in the street, while now he meant the whole world to her.
‘You said you had spoken to my uncle?’ she prompted, her curiosity about the painting overtaking her concern now that he seemed to have made a recovery.
‘Yes, and he didn’t want any trouble. He was even less keen on the idea of the police being called in. He told me that if his sons had my painting he’d have it back here within the hour and presumably they did,’ Cesario pointed out drily.
‘You intended to bring in the police if you didn’t get anywhere with him?’ she pressed.
‘Rather than let your cousins get away with robbing me blind? Fes,’ Cesario confirmed without hesitation, his lean strong face stamped with resolve. ‘I warned your father but, fortunately for him, I’ve got my property back and the matter can be forgotten about now.’
‘Well, I’m glad you got it back but you didn’t really play fair, did you?’ Jess commented, light grey eyes full of reproach. ‘To keep my father safe, I married you and agreed to give you a child, which was a pretty tall order. But in spite of that, today you were ready to sacrifice my father.’
‘Why worry about what didn’t happen, piccola mia?’ Closing the distance between them, Cesario spread his long fingers either side of her anxious face and gently smoothed her skin in a soothing gesture. ‘Your father is innocent of any criminal intention and he was not at risk. I accepted that after speaking to him personally following the robbery and if the police had got involved they would have reached the same conclusion that I did, moglie mia.’
Jess trembled, more affected than she was prepared to admit by his proximity and words of understanding. He’d called her ‘my wife’ and instantly everything seemed lighter and brighter. She wrapped her arms round his neck and within seconds he was kissing her with a hot, driving hunger that left her dizzy with its intensity. Her body quickened, desire rising embarrassingly fast so that she pushed against his hard, muscular frame, her breath ragged in her throat, her nipples tight and throbbing.
‘Bed,’ Cesario muttered thickly, grasping her hand and urging her out of the room and up the stairs.
‘It’s time for dinner,’ she muttered.
‘Non c’è problema! Tommaso won’t let us starve, bellezza mia.’
And the hunger he roused in her with his second kiss was fierce and relentless, every plunge of his tongue sending a responsive quiver through her slight body. It was as if there were a flame desperate for fuel burning at the heart of her as she hauled off his jacket and pulled open his shirt. He laughed softly and then crushed her mouth almost savagely beneath his. As he removed her clothes with impatient hands she knew that, somehow, the same overwhelming urgency and need for fulfilment was driving him.
He sank into her hot, wet sheath hard and fast and released a groan of pleasure that acted like an aphrodisiac on her. She felt wild as she craved every thrust of his lean, muscular hips, her body jolting and straining towards a climax even while he paused to savour the moment. She came apart in the circle of his arms, ravished by the exquisite pleasure that washed through her in a sweet drowning tide, so that even afterwards all she was conscious of was the race of his heartbeat against her breast and the damp, reassuring solidity of his big powerful body against hers.
‘I’ve never needed anyone the way I just needed you, cara mia,’ Cesario framed heavily, both arms wrapped round her as though he was still reluctant to let her go.
And in the fading light she smiled and touched a loving hand to his shadowed jaw line, admiring his fabulous bone structure and the inky darkness of the long lashes that framed his bronzed eyes. She loved to be needed, lived to be needed by him, and his passion for her made her feel special. It would have been the perfect moment to tell him that she was pregnant but she was quick to discard the idea, preferring to concentrate on their togetherness rather than on an announcement that might well bring their current living arrangements to an end. She would share her news in the morning instead, she decided, and she stayed silent, even though they later got out of bed to enjoy a late dinner.
What remained of the night was long, since they made love until dawn. Cesario was tireless and his hunger for her seemed both ravenous and unquenchable. When exhaustion finally overcame her, she slept deeply and wakened to find that she was alone. She had planned to make her announcement over breakfast with Cesario but the morning was already well advanced.
Clad in cropped trousers and a silk top, she hurried across the imposing landing of the mansion that was now her home and sped downstairs. She found Cesario in his office talking in Italian on the phone. Weed and Magic were curled up together below his desk. Eyes tender with love, she watched Cesario unnoticed from the doorway for the space of minute, revelling in the memory of the closeness they had shared and proud of the intimate ache that was the penalty for such passion…
CHAPTER NINE
‘JESSICA…’ Cesario perceptibly tensed the instant he saw her there, his lean strong face pulling taut and shuttering. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
/> A little hurt by the reserve she sensed in him, Jess asked Tommaso to bring them coffee and took a seat. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said as soon as Cesario had finished his phone call.
Tommaso created a welcome hiatus with his return with a tray and Cesario wandered over to the window with his cup cradled in one lean hand, sunshine glinting over his black hair and adding reflected light to his charismatic dark eyes. ‘What is it?’ he asked casually.
Jess lifted her head high. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she told him quietly.
Cesario looked revealingly stunned, as though that was the last piece of news he had expected to hear. His ebony brows pleated in a questioning frown. ‘You can’t be.’
‘I am.’ A confident smile of achievement illuminated her face. ‘I saw the doctor yesterday and had it confirmed, so there’s no mistake.’
‘But so soon, so, er, quickly?’ Cesario breathed in stilted English, his surprise still lingering in spite of her explanation. ‘We’re both in our thirties and I believed it might take months.’
‘No. We’ll be parents by the end of January next year,’ Jess told him excitedly, wanting to infect him with some of her enthusiasm because he was standing there so still and quiet.
‘January next year,’ Cesario repeated slowly.
She thought he looked pale beneath his bronzed skin and more like a man who had been dealt a severe shock than a man given news he should have been eager to hear. His strong facial bones were clearly defined, his brilliant eyes hooded so that she had not the slightest idea what he might be thinking. It was the most complete non-reaction that she had ever experienced and very far from what she had hoped to receive.
‘You’re not pleased,’ she breathed unevenly.
Cesario unfroze and took a hasty step towards her, only to come to a halt again and then hover with uncharacteristic uncertainty. ‘Of course, I’m pleased!’
Jess could feel herself turning stiff and defensive, for any hint of the warm intimacy of the night hours had been well and truly scuppered by his attitude. ‘No, you’re not pleased and I don’t understand why you’re not. Isn’t this what you wanted? Didn’t you marry me so that I could give you a child?’ she prompted, her voice getting more shrill without her meaning it to, and for a horror-stricken instant she was afraid she sounded whiny.