The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

by Catherine George

  ‘I know. And I’m glad you told me about her. It explains a lot.’ Alicia’s eyes narrowed. ‘It proves that Cinzia was most definitely the culprit. Your mother, whatever her origins, had faultless taste. I should have realised that she couldn’t have given me such a tacky nightgown, even less the instructions that went with it.’

  ‘Daverro.’ Francesco got up. ‘I will leave you to rest, Alicia. When you are ready, come back to the terrazzo and I will send for tea. Or would you like it now?’

  ‘No thanks.’ She sighed. ‘Actually, I’d better get up, Francesco. I promised to have a word with Pina.’

  ‘No, sleep for a while. I shall take you to see Pina later.’ He crossed to the bed and gave her the smile that still had the power to turn her heart over. ‘I am so very glad you agreed to come, Alicia.’

  She dropped her eyes to hide her response. ‘You left me no choice, really. When do we go to see the—what did you call him?—the notaio?’

  ‘We do not go to him. Signor Raimondi will come here tomorrow at eleven.’

  ‘Francesco.’

  He paused on his way to the door, eyebrows raised.

  Alicia smiled wryly. ‘I thought I’d only be here a day or two, so I didn’t bring many clothes, and dinner was very formal in your mother’s day. Is the dress I wore last night suitable?’

  ‘It is a beautiful dress, but keep it for another occasion, cara. Wear jeans tonight if you wish.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not for dinner with Zia Luisa.’

  ‘Your clothes were unpacked while we had lunch, Alicia, so all will be ready for you. But not the dress. I have plans for that,’ he informed her.

  Alicia eyed the closed door, wondering what plans he had in mind, then slid off the bed and crossed to the wardrobe to find everything she owned hanging there, freshly ironed and immaculate.

  Alicia returned to her pillows and lay looking at the view from the tall windows. So, she’d not only survived her return to Montedaluca, it had been less of an ordeal than expected. No ordeal at all, really. From the moment she’d seen Giacomo smiling at her in welcome her tension had begun to fade. And her warm reception by Zia Luisa and Bianca Giusti had banished it completely.

  In no mood to sleep, Alicia took out her phone and rang her mother again. ‘I’m here at the castello, Bron,’ she announced, then went on to explain about the stop in Florence, and why she’d only just arrived in Montedaluca. ‘The thing is,’ she said carefully, ‘I’m staying on here for a while. Just as you suggested, I’m enlisting my husband as protection against Gareth.’

  ‘Are you, indeed?’ said Bron, surprised. ‘Was Francesco happy to agree to that?’

  ‘It was his idea.’ Alicia told her about the nightmare. ‘Apparently I was screaming at Gareth in my sleep, so I just had to tell Francesco about our problem. He promptly suggested that the best way to solve it was to convince Gareth that my husband and I are no longer separato, as he put it.’

  ‘Promptly?’ said Bron. ‘No sacrifice, then?’

  ‘There’s a snag.’

  ‘Isn’t there always?’

  ‘His great-aunt Zia Luisa, and Bianca Giusti, the lady who taught me Italian—she now lives here, as a sort of companion for Zia—both took it for granted we’re back together when they heard I was coming to stay.’

  ‘Are you having problems with that?’

  ‘Only a constant feeling of unreality. One minute I was dashing about in a world centred on rugby players and press interviews and the Six Nations, and the next I’m back here in the last place I ever intended to set foot in again. With just one ex-rugby player. But here’s the weird bit,’ she added. ‘I am now the contessa.’

  Bron chuckled. ‘How very grand! By the way, have you been to the solicitor to see about your legacy yet?’

  ‘No. Tell George we’re so posh here the solicitor comes to us. I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘Hold on, darling,’ said Bron urgently. ‘You need to get the news to Gareth pretty sharply. So ring Megan. She’ll do the rest.’

  ‘Oh what tangled webs, and all that,’ sighed Alicia. ‘But you’re right, Bron. As usual. Love to George.’

  When Francesco came back Alicia was standing by the window, ready, if not hugely willing, to confront Pina, the diva who ruled over the kitchen.

  ‘Did you sleep?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I had a chat with Bron instead. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Inspecting the gardens with Antonio.’ Francesco ran a hand through his hair. ‘You look so perfect I must take a few minutes in the bathroom to make myself worthy of you. Then we shall go down to Pina.’

  Just as though they’d been married for years. Which, of course, they had been, if one counted from the day of their wedding until now. Alicia’s mouth turned down. To actually feel married you needed a normal marriage. And there was nothing normal about hers, though the unreality part was fading worryingly fast. And if their little comedy helped solve the problem with Gareth she would act it out to Oscar-winning standard for as long as it took. Which was utterly pointless, of course, unless Gareth heard about it. So this evening she would ring Megan with the news, which would then go straight to Gareth via the usual Davies grapevine. Meg would be furious with her when she eventually found out it was all a charade, but that couldn’t be helped.

  The visit to Pina went off surprisingly well with Francesco as interpreter. Alicia soon found that the Italian vocabulary she’d done her best to forget was filtering back now she was hearing it spoken around her, and with lots of smiling and arm waving, and the occasional help from Francesco, she managed to communicate with the cook, who was generously curved and flashing of eye. Pina introduced Teresa, the young girl who helped in the kitchen or the house as required, then informed the contessa that for dinner that evening she had prepared involtini divitelo, which Francesco translated as veal rolled in ham and sage leaves.

  ‘Delizioso,’ said Alicia, smiling, and thanked Pina warmly when the woman suggested that the contessa might enjoy tea on the loggia.

  Alicia left the big kitchen with Francesco, feeling much reassured. During her previous stay she’d had little contact with Pina.

  ‘So. It is not as bad as you thought?’ said Francesco.

  ‘No.’ Alicia smiled wryly as they made for the loggia. ‘No one so far seems to find it the least strange that I’m back here at the castello.’

  Francesco’s face assumed a look of chilling hauteur. ‘Even if they did, no one would be unwise enough to say so.’

  Alicia sat in the chair he pulled out for her at a round table with a pietra dura top. ‘You can be horribly forbidding at times, Francesco.’

  He shrugged and took a chair opposite her, frowning into the late-afternoon sunshine. ‘Have no fear, Alicia. My wife will be treated with the utmost respect.’

  ‘Even though she ran away from you?’

  ‘You came back,’ he said flatly.

  ‘But Francesco, I haven’t really—’ She stopped as Teresa arrived with a laden tray and set it down carefully in front of her.

  ‘Grazie, Teresa,’ said Alicia, and the girl smiled shyly and hurried away.

  ‘Zia Luisa stays in her room until dinner time, which gives Bianca time to herself at this time of day, so the tea is all yours,’ said Francesco.

  ‘And the coffee, no doubt, is for you,’ said Alicia, noting the two pots. ‘Shall I pour for you?’

  ‘Grazie.’ He leaned his elbows on the table to watch her, his smile so sardonic she eyed him narrowly. ‘You were going to say that you are not really back, Alicia. But you must pretend that you are. And pretend well. Otherwise how will we convince anyone—most importantly Gareth—that we are no longer separato?’

  Alicia poured herself a cup of tea. The real thing, she noted; no teabags here. ‘I know, Francesco. I’ll try.’

  He leaned nearer. ‘I do not even have to try. To me it seems the most natural thing in the world to sit here with you again.’

  ‘Again? You never sa
t here with me last time,’ she retorted. ‘I took afternoon tea with your mother on the terrazzo upstairs, while she instructed me on the proper behaviour for a Contessa da Luca.’

  Francesco frowned. ‘Then did you not think it extraordinary to receive such a gift from her?’

  ‘Of course I did. It was a huge shock. I was educated by nuns, remember? But for all I knew it was the custom here for brides to deck themselves out like that, and you’d expect me to look that way.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘I can’t believe I was so stupid!’

  Francesco shook his head. ‘Innocent, not stupid, Alicia.’

  ‘Ignorant, you mean.’

  ‘Sometimes my English is not perfect, remember.’

  ‘Never mind.’ She gave him a mocking smile. ‘With looks like yours, it doesn’t matter.’

  To her surprise he looked embarrassed. ‘Looks are an accident of nature, Alicia.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘But, if they first attracted you to me, I am grateful for them.’

  Alicia’s eyes fell from the intent blue gaze. ‘They were certainly your entry into my rugby hall of fame. You were by far the best looking man on my wall. Which is not such a huge compliment,’ she added wryly.

  ‘I know it. Rugby players are chosen for skill and strength, not looks. For me it was not my face but my speed which won me a place in the team.’ He reached a hand across the table to touch hers. ‘But I give thanks for this face if it brought us together, Alicia. I shall never forget your look of wonder that first day in Florence.’

  She smiled crookedly. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’

  ‘As did I when I first saw your face.’ His grasp tightened. ‘I took one look and lost my heart.’

  Alicia snatched her hand away so he couldn’t feel her pulse racing. ‘Why do you keep bringing up the past, Francesco? That was then, and this is now.’

  ‘And now,’ he said, suddenly implacable, ‘We are here together again. As far as the world is concerned, we are reconciled.’

  ‘But we know we’re not. It’s just convenient fiction,’ she said flatly.

  Francesco rose to his feet, a very unsettling look in his eyes. ‘If we pretend long enough, cara, who knows? Perhaps it will become fact.’

  ‘I seriously doubt that,’ she retorted, wishing she could run up to the bedroom and hide until dinner. But since it was the master bedroom, and Francesco was the master, fat chance of that.

  He held out his hand. ‘Let us walk in the gardens to admire Antonio’s work for a while. It may give you an appetite for dinner.’

  ‘All right. I’ll come for the walk,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘But you will not take my hand?’

  ‘I’m wearing the ring now, so it isn’t necessary.’

  His mouth tightened. ‘Is my touch so—so repugnant?’

  ‘No, it’s not. I just need time to get used to you again, Francesco.’ Not for the world would she admit that his touch still had the power to make her pulse race.

  ‘Va bene. Let us walk, then.’

  The gardens of the castello descended in tiers, with flowers and shrubs giving way to evergreens and cypresses as the terrain grew steeper, and at intervals water gushed from the mouths of gargoyles in the ancient walls and ran off into subterranean cisterns equipped with pumps that recycled the water back again. Alicia felt the timeless peace of the place seeping through her as she looked out on the sunlit panorama of vines and olive groves and meandering roads lined with tall, pointing cypress. When they reached the grassy terrace that marked a halfway point on the descent, Francesco gestured at a carved wooden seat beneath a pergola wreathed with greenery.

  ‘The sun is less fierce now. Would you like to sit here for a while?’

  Alicia nodded and sat down. ‘It’s so lovely here. Surely Antonio doesn’t manage all this on his own?’

  ‘He has help.’ Francesco sat beside her, pointedly keeping his distance. ‘Two men from the town, both retired now, come three days a week.’

  They sat in surprisingly companionable silence for a while, then Francesco turned to look at her. ‘Alicia, last night, when you had the nightmare, you did not object to my touch.’

  ‘No,’ she said soberly. ‘I was very grateful for it. You were a tremendous comfort. I haven’t had nightmares for ages, not since—’

  ‘You ran away from me?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I take the blame for your early nightmares, but Gareth is responsible for new ones.’ His eyes hardened. ‘He frightened you very badly, no?’

  ‘It wasn’t fright, exactly. It just felt so horribly wrong. Gareth has kissed my cheek and hugged me often enough in the past, and I’ve never given it a thought. But that night it was different.’

  ‘Because he wanted to be your lover.’

  ‘Yes.’ She shivered.

  ‘Therefore,’ Francesco said with decision, ‘We must play our parts well to convince him this will never happen. For me this is easy. For you, obviously, it is not.’

  Alicia felt sudden compunction. Francesco was trying to help her out, for heaven’s sake, and she was an ungrateful idiot. She knew, of old, that he was a tactile man.

  She turned to him in sudden curiosity. ‘Francesco—when I came to stay those weeks before the wedding why were you so distant with me?’

  His mouth turned down. ‘I was afraid to touch you.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘It was torture to have you near and yet not near enough, Alicia. I plunged myself into work as much as possible to stay away from you.’ He turned his head to meet her eyes. ‘I wanted you so much it was driving me mad. Surely you knew that?’

  ‘No. I had no idea.’ She gazed at him, astonished. ‘I was afraid you’d changed your mind.’

  He let out a snort of derision. ‘I had not, believe me, cara. My mother knew well how I felt. She warned me that I must not give way to the base desires that drive all men. She told me that if I insisted on an innocent, untried girl for a bride, you must remain so until after the ceremony.’ He threw out a hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘It was relief when your mother arrived and took you to stay with her at the hotel.’

  Alicia shook her head in wonder. ‘And I thought you were avoiding me.’

  ‘I was,’ he said simply, and looked at his watch. ‘Allora, we should go back. Zia Luisa dines downstairs tonight because you are here, therefore we shall eat early.’

  Feeling it was time for an olive branch, Alicia took his hand to walk up the steep path through the gardens.

  ‘Grazie,’ he said softly, his fingers closing on hers.

  ‘Prego.’

  And as simply as that peace was declared. Even the matter of who got ready first was settled just as amicably when they reached their rooms.

  ‘I have a request,’ Francesco said as he closed the door behind them.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Will you wear your hair loose tonight?’ His eyes gleamed like jewels in the fading light as he touched a hand to her severe knot.

  She smiled demurely. ‘Yes, Francesco.’

  He grinned. ‘I like so much to hear you say that. Say it more often, per favore.’

  ‘Yes, Francesco,’ she said obediently, laughing at him, and felt her heart melt at the obvious pleasure he took in the sound.

  ‘I like so much to hear you laugh also, Alicia!’

  ‘But now I have a request,’ she said firmly. ‘I need the bathroom first so I can use my hairdryer while you’re in the shower. This isn’t easy hair, Francesco.’

  ‘But very beautiful. Va bene, I shall wait until you call.’ He strolled, whistling, to the dressing room, unaware that he’d brought a lump to her throat. Taking his hand had been such a simple thing to do, yet it had obviously made him happy. Her eyes widened. It had made her happy too.

  Alicia was finally ready in the newly ironed silk shirt, and a slim, cream linen skirt worn in deference to Zia Luisa. Francesco’s eyes were warm with approval as they moved over the shining hair she’d left loose.

>   ‘Grazie. You look beautiful, cara.’

  So did he, in perfectly tailored pale linen trousers, a jacket a shade or two darker, and wonderful shoes, as always.

  ‘You look good too,’ she assured him.

  ‘But before we go down,’ said Francesco quietly, ‘I have something I hope you will wear.’

  Alicia’s heart gave a thump as she saw he was holding a small, velvet box. ‘The betrothal ring,’ she said, resigned.

  He shook his head. ‘I know you did not like it. You have agreed to wear the wedding ring because it is necessary, I know. But this is a ring I had made to give to you on our wedding night, after—’ His jaw clenched.

  ‘After we’d made love for the first time?’ she said quietly.

  He nodded, and opened the box to display a cluster of diamonds set like a delicate posy on a plain gold band, as unlike the heavy ruby betrothal ring as it was possible for a ring to be. ‘Will you wear it, Alicia?’

  She nodded silently, and held out her hand for him to slide the ring on her finger. ‘It’s exquisite,’ she said huskily, and gave him a shaky smile. ‘How did you know it would fit?’

  ‘It is the size of your wedding ring,’ he said simply, and held out his hand. ‘Come. Let us go.’

  ‘Could you go on down, Francesco? I need to ring Megan.’