It’s never a good idea to revisit the past, Constantin had warned her before they had left Rome. She wondered what memories filled his mind when he came to Casa Celeste. Blinking back her tears, she walked outside to the courtyard at the back of the house and found him sitting on a low wall surrounding an ornamental fountain.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that your father and his second wife died here at Casa Celeste?’
He stiffened and shot her a searching look. ‘I suppose Diane was gossiping,’ he said tersely. ‘No doubt she filled your head with lurid tales.’
‘Diane didn’t tell me anything, except that they had been killed in an accident which you witnessed.’ The cold gleam in Constantin’s eyes warned Isobel that he wanted her to drop the subject, but her determination to resolve the issues that she was sure had come between them during their marriage made her press him for an answer. ‘What actually happened?’
A nerve flickered in his jaw. ‘Are you sure you want to know? Be careful, Isobel. Some secrets are best left hidden.’
She did not know how to respond, and after a few moments he shrugged and glanced up at the tall tower attached to the main house. His voice was devoid of emotion when he spoke.
‘My father and stepmother fell to their deaths from the balcony up there at the top of the tower.’ He kicked the hard cobblestoned courtyard. ‘They were both killed instantly, which was some small mercy, I suppose.’
She gave a horrified gasp. ‘You saw it happen?’
‘Yes. It wasn’t pretty, as I’m sure you can imagine.’ His tone was so matter-of-fact that he could have been discussing something as mundane as the weather.
Isobel was lost for words, shocked not just by the details of the fatal accident but by Constantin’s lack of sentiment. ‘What a terrible thing to have witnessed. You must have had nightmares afterwards...’ Her voice faltered as she remembered how she had heard him shouting out during the night when they had stayed at Casa Celeste. No wonder his cries had been so blood-curdling if his dreams had relived the horror of seeing his father and stepmother plunge to their deaths.
‘You should have told me.’ She felt hurt that he had not confided in her about the traumatic event in his life that must have affected him—and quite possibly still affected him, she mused, remembering what she had heard about Constantin’s relationship with his father’s second wife. ‘At least I would have understood why you dislike coming here.’ She bit her lip. ‘Diane said that you were in love with Lorena.’
His reaction was explosive. He jumped to his feet and slashed his hand through the air. ‘Mio Dio! That woman should have her tongue cut out. Diane Rivolli was never party to my thoughts. She knows nothing, and she has no right to make slanderous accusations about me.’
He had paled beneath his tan, and the hand he raked through his hair shook, Isobel noticed. It was the first time she had ever seen him so worked up. Gone was his air of cool detachment. His jaw was rigid and his eyes glittered with anger. ‘I warned you that the past is best left dead and buried,’ he said savagely.
‘Constantin...’ She stared after him as he strode out of a gate in the courtyard wall that led to dense woodland surrounding the house, which was home to wild boar. He had once told her that cinghiale could weigh up to four hundred pounds and the males had fearsome tusks. But a wild boar was probably not as dangerous as Constantin’s mood was right now, Isobel thought ruefully. His violent reaction when she had mentioned his father’s young wife pointed to him having been in love with Lorena.
She suddenly wished she had heeded his advice and stayed away from Casa Celeste. There was a strange atmosphere in the courtyard where Franco and Lorena had died. The sun sinking below the horizon was blood-red, and cast long shadows on the house. Despite the warm evening air Isobel shivered as goosebumps prickled her skin, and, giving a low cry, she ran back inside. But there was no comfort to be found in the coldly elegant rooms. Casa Celeste was an impressive house, but she wondered if it had ever felt like a home to Constantin.
She unloaded the car and carried the food they had brought with them into the kitchen, where she put together a salad, forced herself to eat a small dinner, and put the rest in the fridge for Constantin, if and when he returned later. He still had not come back when she made up the bed in the master bedroom, before choosing one of the guest bedrooms for herself. She avoided the bedroom where she had stayed on her last disastrous visit two years ago.
Constantin’s revelation about the tragedy that he had witnessed at Casa Celeste went some way to explaining why he disliked the house, but there were so many things about him that she still did not understand. Her marriage was as full of secrets as it had always been and she was no closer to discovering what, if anything, Constantin felt for her.
She must have slept deeply, because she did not hear him enter her bedroom much later that night, and she was unaware that he stood by the bed for a long time, a grave, almost tortured expression on his face as he watched her sleeping.
When Isobel opened her eyes, bright sunlight filled the room and she immediately saw Constantin sitting in an armchair next to the window.
‘You look terrible,’ she told him bluntly, raking her eyes over his haggard face and the black stubble covering his jaw. ‘Have you slept at all?’
Instead of answering her question, he said harshly, ‘Let’s go back to Rome. There is evil here in this house.’
She nodded slowly. ‘I can understand why you think that. But our daughter is here. I’m not leaving until I’ve visited Arianna’s grave.’
* * *
The tiny private chapel where for centuries the members of the De Severino family had been baptised and buried was a little way off from the house. Isobel followed a path that wound through the estate, passing olive groves and vineyards before she caught sight of the ancient stone building. When she had last been there, on the day of Arianna’s funeral, the chapel grounds had been overgrown and sunlight had struggled to filter through the trees. She remembered how she had felt hollow with grief and utterly alone. Constantin had been with her, but she had been chilled by his lack of emotion as they had said goodbye to their baby.
The gloomy surroundings had augmented her misery on that day two and a half years ago. But as she pushed open the gate and walked towards Arianna’s headstone she was shocked to see that dozens of rose bushes had been planted around the grave, and a bench had been placed nearby beneath the delicate fronds of a young weeping willow. The tall oak trees had been cut back allowing sunshine to bathe this corner of the graveyard in a golden halo of light.
Isobel stopped in her tracks and stared. She caught sight of an elderly gardener pruning a hedge and walked over to him.
‘The roses are beautiful. It must have taken a lot of work to plant so many.’
His lined face creased into a smile. ‘Not for me. Il Marchese planted them for his bambina. He comes often. Not to the house. He sits there.’ The old man nodded to the bench. ‘There is peace here.’
Isobel understood. The only sound was birdsong and the whisper of the breeze gently stirring the willow tree. The gardener moved away, leaving her alone to admire the roses that were just coming into bloom. All the bushes had pink buds, she realised. Pink for a girl. In the hushed stillness of the garden she thought she heard tinkling laughter. Her vision was blurred with tears and for a moment she was sure she glimpsed a little figure running along the path.
‘Arianna!’
She whirled round, but no one was there. The ache in her throat became unbearable and she sank down onto the bench and allowed her tears to fall.
‘I knew it was a mistake to come.’ Constantin’s voice, deep as an ocean, sounded close by. Isobel had been unaware that he had followed her from the house. ‘I knew you would find it too painful,’ he said thickly. He sat down on the bench and pulled her into his arms, but said nothing mo
re, simply held her and stroked her hair while she wept.
At last she lifted her head and scrubbed her wet face with the back of her hand. ‘I’m not only crying for Arianna. I’m sad because I didn’t know how much losing her hurt you.’
She waved her hand at the rose garden. ‘You created this beautiful place in memory of our baby, but I had no idea that you cared. You were so distant, so...contained and unemotional. I needed you,’ she told him in a choked voice. ‘I wish we could have grieved together. I was angry because I believed you didn’t feel the pain I felt. I even thought that you hadn’t wanted our baby. Why couldn’t you have told me that you were sad too?’
‘I couldn’t,’ he said heavily. ‘I can’t explain.’
‘Please try, because I want to understand,’ she whispered.
Something flared in his eyes, but he turned his head away from her tear-streaked face and said nothing.
‘Diane said that you didn’t cry at your mother’s funeral. I don’t understand. You were eight years old and I know you loved her. You keep the model sports car she gave you for your birthday locked in a glass cabinet.’
‘My father told me I mustn’t cry,’ Constantin said harshly. ‘He said that crying was a sign of weakness and De Severino men are not weak.’
‘So that’s why your father didn’t show any emotion when he stood at your mother’s grave. Diane said...’ Her voice faltered when he frowned.
‘Diane obviously said a damn sight too much.’
His mouth twisted. As Constantin had walked through the grounds of the chapel and heard Isobel weeping he’d felt a pain beneath his breastbone, as if his heart had splintered. His first instinct had been to leave her to grieve alone as he had done when she’d had the miscarriage. But something had made him turn back to her. Are you going to keep running away for ever? she had asked him.
Dio! She had made him take a long, hard look at himself, and he had felt ashamed. Since he was a boy, he had believed that emotions were a sign of weakness. But who was the coward—brave, strong Isobel who was honest about her feelings? Or him, a grown man too scared to allow himself to feel the emotional highs and lows that were part of life?
‘Diane did not see what I saw.’
Isobel stared at him, shocked by the rawness in his voice. ‘What did you see?’
He shook his head and hunched forwards, his shoulders bowed. ‘I saw my father crying.’
Constantin was eight years old again, standing outside his father’s study listening to the terrible moans coming from behind the closed door. He’d been scared that a cinghiale had got into the house and was goring his father with its sharp tusks. His heart had thudded beneath his ribs as he’d slowly pushed open the door.
‘On the night my mother was buried I heard strange noises from my father’s study,’ he told Isobel. ‘I went in and saw him rolling on the floor as though he was in agony.’ Constantin let out a ragged breath. ‘Franco was crying in a way I’d never seen anyone cry before. I was just a child...and I was frightened. My father had told me that only weak men cried. He looked up and saw me and he was angry, shouting at me to go away. I ran to the door, but he called to me. “Now you know how cruel love is, how it brings a man to utter despair and misery.”’
Constantin could hear his father’s voice. He glanced at Isobel and saw a mixture of shock and sympathy in her hazel eyes that tugged on something deep inside him.
‘The next day, my father was his usual, cold self. Neither of us ever spoke about what had happened, but I sensed he was ashamed that I had witnessed his breakdown. He sent me away to school and I saw very little of him when I was growing up. But the memory of him sobbing, and the realisation that love had reduced my proud father to a broken man, stayed in my mind. I was frightened by the destructive power of love, and how it could make a man weak. At eight years old I learned to keep my emotions locked inside me.’
‘But you did care about our baby,’ Isobel said softly. ‘You couldn’t cry for Arianna, but you planted this garden for her.’
She stood up and walked among the rose bushes, leaning down to inhale the delicate perfume of the unfurling petals. Her heart ached. She felt unbearably moved by Constantin’s admission that he could not show his emotions, but Arianna’s garden was proof that he had shared her devastation at the loss of their daughter.
Constantin broke off a rosebud from a bush and handed it to her before he swept her up in his arms.
‘What are you doing?’ Her breath left her body in a shaky sigh. The temptation to rest her aching head on his shoulder was too strong to resist.
‘What I should have done two years ago. I’m going to take care of you, tesorino,’ he said softly. ‘I’m going to run you a bath, and I’m going to cook dinner for you—’ he looked into her eyes, and Isobel’s heart leapt at the sensual promise in his gaze ‘—and then I am going to make love to you.’
‘You can’t carry me all the way back to the house,’ she murmured. But he did, and when he entered the cool marble hallway of Casa Celeste he continued up the stairs to the master bedroom and into the en suite bathroom, where he filled the sunken bath with water and added a handful of rose-scented crystals.
His hands were gentle as he unbuttoned her shirt and placed it on the chair before he removed her skirt and underwear. She gathered her hair up and pinned it on top of her head, exposing her slender neck.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said roughly. ‘I knew the moment I saw you that I was in trouble.’ He turned to walk out of the bathroom, but she touched his arm.
‘After I lost the baby I felt angry when you suggested we make love because I thought it was proof that you didn’t care.’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know how else to reach out to you. Bed was the one place where we understood each other’s needs perfectly, and I wanted to show you what I couldn’t say with words. I knew I had failed you. I knew you wanted more support from me...’ his voice became husky ‘...but the truth is that hearing you crying was something I couldn’t deal with. When you pushed me away, I told myself it was no more than I deserved. I decided to wait until you gave some sign that you wanted me.’
Isobel glanced ruefully at her swollen nipples. Her breasts felt heavy and the sweet ache between her legs could only be assuaged by Constantin. ‘In case you’ve missed the signs my body is sending you, I want you,’ she said softly.
His chest lifted as he drew a jerky breath. She looked heartbreakingly fragile and emotionally spent. ‘You need food, rest...’
She stepped towards him and reached up to brush her mouth lightly across his. ‘I need you.’
Luckily it was a big bath. He helped her step into the water and slid in behind her. She leaned back against his chest and sank deep into a world of pleasure, where nothing existed but the drift of his hands on her body as he caressed her breasts, cupping them and feeling their weight, before he moved lower.
‘Mind where you put that bar of soap,’ she murmured and heard his husky chuckle in her ear as he dropped the soap and used his fingers in an intimate exploration that made her catch her breath. ‘Constantin...’ Her voice was urgent as she felt her pleasure build. Liquid heat pooled between her thighs and she tried to turn towards him.
‘This is for you, tesorino.’ He held her firmly in place and used his fingers to wicked effect while his other hand stole up to her breasts to tease each rose-tipped point in turn until her breathing quickened. He felt the sudden tension in her muscles, and he held her there, poised on the brink for a few seconds before sliding his fingers deeply into her to capture the frantic pulse of her orgasm.
Afterwards he dried her with a soft towel and smoothed fragrant oil over every centimetre of her skin, paying such careful attention to certain areas of her body that Isobel ached to take him inside her. Somehow they made it into the bedroom, and he placed her on the edge of
the bed and stood between her legs, spreading her wide and sliding his hands beneath her bottom to angle her for his complete possession.
Their eyes met, held, and time stood still. There was no teasing gleam in his bright blue gaze now, just a stark need that touched Isobel’s heart and made her think of the young boy who had stood beside his mother’s grave and forced his lips not to tremble and his tears not to fall.
There were still many unanswered questions, but he had been right when he’d said that when they made love they understood each other perfectly.
There was no need for words. Their bodies moved in total accord and she arched beneath him to meet each powerful thrust as he drove her higher and higher. She sensed he was holding back, and his infinite care brought tears to her eyes. Tenderness was a new element to his desire and she loved him all the more for it, but what she needed right now was his hunger, his primitive need to claim her as his own.
There was no need for words. She told him in her evocative kiss that shook him with its innate sensuality exactly what she wanted from him. Passion, raw and honest and demanding a response she gave him with a willingness that rocked him to the depths of his soul as they climaxed simultaneously and tumbled together in a glorious freefall.
A long time later, hunger of a different kind prompted Constantin to head downstairs to the kitchen to prepare the dinner he had promised Isobel. They had picked up steaks and salad on the drive to the house, and the cellar offered a wide selection of vintage wines. He chose a fifteen-year-old Barolo, collected glasses and cutlery and set a table outside on the terrace overlooking an informal flower garden.
The mingled scents of jasmine and night-scented stocks greeted Isobel as she sat down opposite Constantin. Her heart fluttered madly like a trapped bird beneath her ribcage as she stared at the jewellery case he placed in front of her. The yellow diamond solitaire he had given her when he had asked her to marry him, the day after she had told him she was expecting his baby, lay next to the plain gold wedding band she had pulled from her finger before she had rushed out of the house in Grosvenor Square two years ago.
To Wear His Ring Again Page 14