The Forced Marriage (9 page)

‘So nice to see you all,’ she babbled. ‘But I really must be going.’

If I can just get outside and find the car I can wait in it. Tell Marco I can’t stay…

She turned to flee, and cannoned straight into Marco himself. He steadied her, hands on her shoulders, halting her flight.

‘You are going in the wrong direction,
carissima
.’ He sounded amused, every word falling on her ears with total clarity. ‘The lift is over there, and we are on the first floor—in the bridal suite, no less.’ He slid his arm round her waist and pulled her close. His voice became lower, more intimate. ‘I have asked them to send up your tea, and some champagne for us, so that we can—relax before dinner. Would you like that, my sweet one?’

The silence seemed to stretch out until doom. Except that doom would have been preferable, Flora thought. She felt as if she was watching everything from a distance—Chris looking stunned, with his mouth open and his face brick-red—his companions exchanging appalled glances and trying to edge away—and Marco, his hand resting on her hip in unquestioned possession, smiling like a fallen angel.

At last, ‘Who are you?’ Chris burst out hoarsely. ‘And what the hell are you doing with my fiancée?’

Marco looked in his direction for the first time, his glance icy and contemptuous. And totally unwavering. He said, ‘I am Marco Valante,
signore
, and I am Flora’s lover. Is there anything more you wish to ask me?’

Flora saw Chris’s mouth move, and realised he was silently repeating the name to himself. The angry colour had faded from his face and he was suddenly as white as a sheet.

There was tension in the air, harsh, almost tangible, filling the shaken silence.

‘No,’ Chris muttered at last. ‘No, there’s nothing.’ And, without looking at Flora again, he turned and stumbled away, followed by his embarrassed companions.

‘I think,
mia bella
,’ Marco said softly, ‘that your engagement is at an end.’

‘You know the old cliché about praying for the floor to open and swallow you?’ Flora threw a sodden tissue into the wastebin and pulled another from the box. ‘Well, it’s all true, Hes. I just wanted to disappear and never be found again.’

‘Yet once again the floor remained intact,’ said Hester. ‘So what did you do? Go for the sympathy vote and throw up over Chris’s shoes?’

‘It’s not funny.’ Flora sent her a piteous look. ‘Hes, it was the worst moment of my life, bar none.’

Twenty-four hours had passed, and they were in Flora’s sitting room. Flora was stretched out on the sofa and Hester was standing by the window, glass of wine in hand.

She nodded. ‘I believe you.’ She whistled. ‘Boy, when you fall off the wagon, Flo, you do it in spectacular style, I’ll grant you that. No half-measures for our girl. So what happened next? I presume Chris tried to kill him?’

‘No.’ Flora shook her head drearily. ‘He just stood there, looking at Marco as if he’d seen a ghost—or his worst nightmare. And then—he walked away.’

Hester frowned. ‘You mean he didn’t even take a swing at him? I’m not pro-violence, but under the circumstances…’

‘Nothing,’ Flora said tonelessly. ‘And he didn’t look at me, or say one word.’

Hester grimaced. ‘Probably didn’t trust himself.’

‘I can hardly blame him for that,’ Flora sighed. ‘I can’t forgive myself for the way I’ve treated him.’

‘Let’s talk some sense here.’ Hester walked over, refilled her glass, then resumed her station at the window. ‘I never felt that you and Chris were the couple of the year. You met and liked each other, and it—drifted from there.’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe you’d both reached a stage where marriage seemed a good idea, and you were content to settle for just all right rather than terrific. It happens a lot, and in a lot of cases it probably works perfectly.

‘But not for you, Flo. That red hair of yours gives you away. You’re really an all or nothing girl, and sooner or later you’d have realised that. It’s much better that it should happen now, before the wedding, even if the endgame was a bit drastic. But you didn’t plan it that way, so stop beating yourself over the head. Ultimately it’s all for the best.

‘And, if it comes to that,’ she added, frowning, ‘why wasn’t he here seducing you himself? If he hadn’t been off with the lads, this Italian guy wouldn’t have been able to get to first base with you.’

‘We weren’t joined at the wrist,’ Flora objected.

‘Or anywhere else, I gather,’ Hester said drily.

She paused. ‘Have you heard from Chris since it happened?’

‘No,’ Flora said bitterly. ‘But I’ve had calls from practically all our families and friends. Clearly Chris recovered enough to get on the phone from the hotel and spread the bad word about me. By the time I got back here the answer-machine was practically bursting into flames. My mother—his mother—even my bloody stepsister banging on about little Harry’s disappointment over the loss of his pageboy role.’

‘Nightmare stuff,’ said Hes. ‘And universal condemnation, I suppose?’

Flora shrugged. ‘My mother’s disowned me completely. Says I’ve brought disgrace on the entire family and she’ll never be able to hold her head up at the bridge club again. And, according to Chris’s mother, in more right-thinking times I’d have been whipped at the cart’s tail.’

‘Prior to being stoned to death, I suppose,’ Hester said acidly. ‘Charming woman. Pity there isn’t a public hangman any more. She’d have been ideal. Well, at least you’ve escaped having her as a mother-in-law. That’s one bright spot amid the encircling gloom.’

She paused, then said carefully, ‘And what about your Signor Valante? Has he been in touch since yesterday?’

‘He drove me back here. I don’t think either of us said a word. He brought in my bag and said he regretted the embarrassment he had caused me. And went.’ Flora made a brave attempt at a smile. ‘End of story.’

‘Presumably because he’s hideously embarrassed himself.’ Hester sighed. ‘After all, it was the most appalling coincidence to choose that hotel out of all the others you could have gone to.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Whose decision was that, by the way?’

‘It was Marco’s suggestion, but he didn’t pressure me into it. He said we could take pot luck somewhere else, if I wanted.’ Flora shook her head. ‘I should have obeyed my instincts and taken him at his word. Only Aldleigh Manor did sound lovely.’

‘Wonderful,’ Hester agreed drily. ‘Just the place to meet one’s friends.’

‘Oh, don’t.’ Flora blew her nose, destroying another tissue. ‘Anyway, it happened, and it’s over. And Marco’s gone. I just hope I never have to set eyes on him again,’ she added, her voice cracking in the middle.

‘Pity,’ said Hester. ‘I’d have liked to meet the man who finally made you into a woman. Because under all the woe, my lamb, there’s a new light burning.’ She gave her friend a worldly look. ‘Nice, was it?’

‘I don’t want to discuss it.’ Flora crunched another tissue in her hand.

‘That good, eh?’ Hester said reflectively. ‘So what are your immediate plans, once you’re over your crying jag?’

‘I’ve got to get away for a while. I’d already been considering it, and now I’m sure. I feel bad enough about all this without having to field the angry phone calls,’ she added, shuddering. ‘I need to get myself back on track—somehow.’

‘And you really don’t want to see Marco Valante again?’

‘Never—ever.’

‘That’s tough.’ Hester came away from the window. ‘Because he’s outside, just getting out of a car.’

‘Oh, God.’ Flora scrubbed at her tearstained face. ‘Don’t let him in.’

‘Nonsense.’ Hester grinned at her as she went into the hall to answer the doorbell. ‘I want to meet him, if you don’t. I might even shake hands with him for his sterling efforts on behalf of repressed womanhood.’

‘Hester!’ Flora shrieked, but it was too late. The front door was being opened and there was a murmur of voices in the hall.

A moment later, Hester returned, her face wearing a faintly stunned expression. ‘You have a visitor,’ she said, standing aside to allow Marco to precede her into the room. ‘And I have places to go and things to do, so I’m sure I leave you in good hands.’

‘No—please. There’s no need…’ Flora began desperately, but Hester simply blew her a kiss, added an enigmatic wink, and departed.

Leaving Flora staring at Marco across the back of the sofa. She was horribly conscious of how she must look, in ancient jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled back carelessly into a rubber band, her face pale without the camouflage of cosmetics, eyes reddened through weeping.

He, on the other hand, was immaculate, in another elegant suit, but his usual cool assurance was not as much in evidence. There was an odd tension about him, she realised. There were signs of strain in his face, the skin stretched tautly across the high cheekbones, and his eyes were watchful, even wary, as they studied her.

And yet, in spite of everything, she felt the familiar, shaming clench of excitement deep within her at the sight of him. The uncontrollable twist of yearning that she was unable to deny.

She felt more tears welling up suddenly—spilling over. He made a small, harsh sound in his throat and walked round the sofa to sit beside her. He took a spotless handkerchief from his pocket and began to dry her face, his touch gentle but impersonal.

When she was calm again he studied her gravely for a long moment. ‘My poor little one,’ he said quietly. ‘Have you discovered you cared for him more than you knew?’

She shook her head. ‘I wish I could say that,’ she said huskily. ‘But it wouldn’t be true. I—I would have broken off the engagement anyway, but I never meant it to happen like that. To publicly humiliate him in front of his friends.’

‘Then why are you crying?’

Because, she cried out in her heart, I thought I would never see you again. Because I’ve just realised that, for me, it was never just sex. That, God help me, I’ve fallen in love with you. But I know you don’t feel the same, so this has to be a secret I can never share—with anyone.

She gave a wavering smile. ‘Perhaps because I’ve never had so many people concertedly angry with me before.’ She swallowed. ‘The general view is that I’ve done an unforgivable thing.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘That is a harsh judgement,’ he said at last. ‘Engagements are broken every day.

‘But not by me,’ she said. ‘I—I’ve always been so—well-behaved. And now I’m a bad lot. A scarlet woman, no less.’

He said her name, on a shaken breath, drawing her into his arms and holding her close. She flattened her hands against the breast of his shirt, absorbing the comforting warmth of his body, feeling the beat of his heart under her palm. Content, she realised, just to be near him. And how pathetic was that?

He took the band from her hair, running his fingers through the silky waves to free them, lingering over the contact. She could sense the pent-up longing in his touch, and her heart leapt.

‘Your friend told me you are planning to go away for a while,’ he said at last. ‘Is that true?’

‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘I know I’m being a wimp, but Chris seems to have told everyone about us, and I’d rather not face the music for a while.’

‘Have you decided where to go?’

‘Not yet.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t seem capable of active planning at the moment.’

‘But your passport is in order?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Then that makes it simple,’ he said. ‘I shall take you back to Italy with me.’

Her lips parted in a soundless gasp. She stared up at him. ‘You—can’t be serious.’

‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘I have to return there, and you need to escape. It solves several problems.’

And creates a hundred others.
She thought it, but did not say it.

‘Won’t your family—your friends—find it—odd?’

‘Why should they? I shall take you to the
castello
. I often have friends staying with me there.’

In translation, the
castello
was where he took his women, she told herself with a pang. She would be just another in a long line.

She ought to apply some belated common sense and return a polite but firm refusal, and she knew it. But he was leaving soon, and she wasn’t sure that she could bear knowing this was the last time she would be in his arms, breathing the warm masculine scent of him, or feeling his lips touching hers.

She thought in agony, I can’t let him go. I can’t…

She said slowly, ‘Marco—why do you want me with you?’

He put his lips to the agitated pulse in her throat. ‘You have a short memory,
mia cara
.’ The smile was back in his voice. That husky, sensuous note which sent her blood racing. ‘Do you really not know?’

It was the answer she’d expected, so there was no point in regret or recrimination.

Heaven, she thought. Hell—and now heartbreak. Stark and inevitable, whether she stayed or went. But at least he would be hers—for a little while longer.

On a little whisper, she said, ‘Do you think this is wise?’

‘Ah,
mia bella
.’ There was an odd note in his voice that was almost like sadness. ‘I think it is too late for wisdom.’

‘Yes,’ she said, sighing. ‘Perhaps so.’ She tried to smile. ‘In that case the answer’s yes. I—I’ll go with you, Marco.’

He took her hand and kissed it, then laid it against his cheek, his eyes closed, his face wrenched suddenly by some emotion that she did not understand.

But instinct told her it had nothing to do with happiness.

And she thought, Heaven help us both.

T
HEY
flew to Italy three days later.

Flora had hardly had time to draw breath, let alone seriously question what she was doing.

She’d managed to reschedule the majority of her appointments. Only a few had taken umbrage and declared they would approach another company. So it seemed she would have a career to come back to when the bubble burst. As it surely would.

And, after an initial panic, Melanie had decided to enjoy being in charge for a short time, and was blooming under her new responsibilities.

One of the tasks Flora had considered essential had been to collect her engagement ring from the jeweller’s and have it messengered over to Chris. So far he’d made no attempt to contact her, either at home or work, and she’d been thankful. But after that she’d expected an angry response, and had been surprised and relieved when there was only continuing silence.

Her mother, of course, had not been so reticent. Flora had called her reluctantly, to explain why she would not be available for the next couple of weeks, and had walked into another barrage of criticism and recrimination.

She was an embarrassment. She was ungrateful. She’d caused untold trouble and inconvenience over the wedding arrangements.

‘And now you’re actually going to Italy with this man.’ Mrs Hunt’s voice rose shrilly. ‘Have you lost all sense of decency? My God, Flora, you know nothing about him. Why, he could be in the Mafia!’

Flora sighed. ‘I don’t think so, Mother,’ she said with a touch of weariness. ‘He’s an accountant.’

‘Well, that means nothing,’ her mother said peevishly. ‘They need people like him to—launder their money. I can’t believe your behaviour, Flora,’ she added. ‘First you indulge in a sordid affair, and hurt your fiancé deeply. Now you could be mixing with criminals. You’ve disgraced us all, and I wash my hands of you.’

Flora bit her lip. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’ She spoke with resignation. ‘I’ll call you when I come back.’

‘
If
you come back,’ Mrs Hunt said ominously.

I’m glad I didn’t mention Marco worked for a pharmaceutical outfit, Flora thought as she put the phone down, or she’d have said he was a drug dealer.

She decided to cheer herself with some retail therapy. However this stay in Italy turned out, it would be her first holiday in a considerable while. She had been too busy establishing her business to have time for overseas breaks.

For her honeymoon, of course, she’d have made an exception, she thought with a wintry smile.

But her wardrobe was seriously short of leisure gear, and she made a lightning raid on Kensington High Street to see what was available. There was some glamorous swimwear on offer, and she took her pick, choosing filmy sarongs and overshirts to go with her selection.

She packed with discrimination, reminding herself that she was packing for two weeks’ holiday only—not a lifetime.

Now that the moment of departure was approaching, her nerves were bunching into knots.

She was stingingly aware that she’d hardly seen anything of Marco in the past forty-eight hours, although he had telephoned her several times. But he hadn’t been round in person and there’d been no suggestion that he wished to spend the night with her.

And she missed him like hell.

All these years, she reflected wryly, she’d slept alone in her own bed, tranquil and untroubled.

Now, after those few brief hours in his arms, she was restless, forever reaching for him in the darkness and finding only an empty space beside her.

The words
Will I see you tonight?
had trembled on her lips more than once as they’d spoken on the phone, but she hadn’t dared utter them.

Perhaps he was having serious second thoughts, she mused, wincing, and she would get a last-minute phone call making an excuse to withdraw his invitation.

If so, she decided proudly, she would be round to the nearest travel agent for a last-minute deal—anywhere but Italy.

She could not conceal her shock, however, when Marco arrived to collect her at the appointed time in a chauffeur driven car.

‘You like to travel in style,’ she commented, brows delicately lifted, as she watched the driver load her one modest case into the boot.

‘So do you,
cara
.’ Marco looked her over slowly, with an undisguised appreciation that played havoc with her pulses.

She was wearing a knee-length cream skirt, with a matching round-necked top in a silky fabric and a dark green linen jacket. She had her hair trimmed, and layered slightly too, so that it clung more smoothly to the shape of her head.

She might be trembling inside, but on the surface she looked confident—impeccable.

She tilted her chin, offering him a frankly sultry smile. ‘I wonder what other surprises you have in store for me,
signore
.’

‘Behave yourself,
mia bella
,’ he warned softly. ‘We have a plane to catch.’

And not just any old plane, Flora discovered. After being ushered with due deference into the VIP lounge at the airport, she found herself subsequently seated in the first-class area of the aircraft, with an attentive stewardess offering champagne.

She said shakily, ‘Is this a company perk? They must think very highly of you.’

‘I am revered,’ Marco returned solemnly, but Flora had seen the flicker of amusement in his eyes and drew a deep breath.

‘Marco,’ she said, ‘who actually owns Altimazza?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘The Valante family,
cara
, and I am the chairman and principal shareholder.’

For a moment indignation held her mute, then she rallied. ‘Then why have you been making a fool of me—letting me think you were just an employee—an accountant?’

‘You didn’t request to see my résumé, Flora
mia
.’ He shrugged. ‘And I
am
a qualified accountant. For the record, I have also studied law and business management,’ he added. ‘If you had asked, I would have told you.’

Wryly, he surveyed her flushed, mutinous face. ‘Does it really make such a difference? We are both still the same people.’

‘How can you say that?’ Her voice shook a little. ‘From the first you must have been laughing at me…’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘That was never true—believe me.’

‘Then what is the truth?’ Flora asked stormily. ‘That it amused you to play the prince in disguise, with me as some bloody Cinderella?’

His mouth tightened. ‘I hardly found you in rags. But I admit that perhaps I had a foolish wish to be wanted for myself. It has not always been so in the past.’

‘Oh, dear.’ Her voice bit. ‘You poor rich man. I bet you didn’t turn down many of the offers, for all that.’

‘What do you expect me to say?’ Marco threw back at her. ‘That I lived a celibate life while I was waiting for you? I will not insult you by such a pretence.’

It was her turn to shrug. ‘What’s one more among so many?’

‘Why are you so angry?’ he asked curiously.

‘Because I feel stupid,’ she said. ‘And because I wonder what else you’ve been hiding.’

‘One thing I never hid,’ he said quietly. ‘That I wanted you from the moment I saw you. And the only reason you are here at this moment is because we both wished it. And, for me, nothing has changed.’

He paused. ‘However, I shall not force you to stay,’ he added levelly. ‘If it has become impossible for you to remain with me then I can arrange to have you flown anywhere else in the world you wish to go. The choice is yours,
carissima
.’

For a long moment she was silent, as her head and her heart fought a short, fierce battle.

Then she said in a stifled voice, ‘There’s nowhere else in the world I wish to go—and you know it.’

‘Ah,
dolcezza mia
,’ he said softly. ‘Sometimes you tear me apart.’

She sat beside him, her hand clasped in his, and saw the envy in the eyes of the pretty girls who waited on them. Who thought she’d won the jackpot—sexually, as well as in money terms.

And she smiled back, and thanked them for the lunch and hot towels, because they might be right. Because for the next two weeks she was going to be spoiled and cosseted by day, and taken to heaven each night.

And then it would be over. Midnight would strike and Cinders would be back in the real world.

But, for now, she was having a wonderful time—of course she was—with even better to come. And she had no illusions—no crazy naïve dreams about the possibility of a future with the man at her side. Or not any longer, anyway, she amended swiftly.

Her time with him was finite, and she accepted that.

So, there was no need for this niggling feeling of unease. No need at all.

And if I say it often enough, she thought, I may even begin to believe it.

But no uncertainty could cloud her first view of San Silvestro.

As the helicopter began its descent Flora saw the sun-baked stones of the
castello
, gleaming pink, grey and cream in the afternoon light as it reared up from the riot of greenery which surrounded it.

That first heart-stopping glimpse showed her a cluster of buildings, roofed in faded terracotta and surmounted by a square tower. Its clifftop setting had clearly been chosen with an arrogant eye for impact, and it lay, like a watchful lion, overlooking the azure sea.

For Flora, it was a fairytale image—a vision of Renaissance power—but for the man beside her, she realised, it was home. Emphasising the very different worlds they inhabited, she thought with sudden bleakness, picking out the turquoise shimmer of a swimming pool.

As the helicopter landed on a flat sweep of lawn at the rear of the
castello
, Flora could see people descending the steps from the imposing terrace and coming to meet them.

Her stomach clenched in swift nervousness.

The man leading the charge was tall, with silver hair. He was dressed in dark trousers and a discreet grey jacket, and the austerity of his features was relieved by a smile of sheer delight.

That must be Alfredo, Flora thought, remembering what Marco had been saying on the flight down.

‘He is my
maggiordomo
, and Marta, his wife, is the housekeeper,’ he’d told her. ‘Alfredo’s father worked for my grandfather, so he was born at the
castello
, like myself, and loves it as much.’

She found herself swallowing as Marco helped her alight from the helicopter, maintaining his firm grip on her hand.

‘Avanti,’
he said briskly, and they set off across the lawn towards the welcoming party, Flora struggling to match his long-legged stride.

After the warmth of his greeting for his master, Flora found Alfredo’s calm correctness towards herself slightly daunting. She was also aware of the shrewdly assessing glances being directed at her by the rest of the staff as they were formally presented to her.

‘This is Ninetta,
signorina
.’ Alfredo indicated a plump, pretty girl in a dark dress and white apron. ‘She will unpack for you, and attend you during your time with us.’

‘Grazie,’
Flora murmured, wryly reviewing the modest contents of her luggage.

Alfredo gave a stately inclination of the head. ‘So, if you will follow me,
signorina
, I will show you to your room.’

As he went past Marco spoke to him softly and briefly in his own language. Just for a second the impassive mask slipped, and the major-domo let surprise show. But he recovered instantly, murmuring a respectful,
‘Si, signore, naturalamente,’
as he set off for the house, snapping his fingers at Ninetta to pick up Flora’s case.

Inside the
castello
, Flora received a whirlwind impression of large rooms with tiled floors, low ceilings and frescoed walls. Then she was ascending a wide stone staircase, walking along a gallery, navigating a long corridor and climbing another short flight of stone steps.

Alfredo opened the double doors at the top and bowed her into the room. Its square shape told her instantly that she was in the tower of the
castello
, and probably its oldest part, too.

She stared round her, her jaw dropping at the subdued magnificence of the tapestry-hung walls and vast canopied bed. There was little furniture, but the few pieces were clearly very old and valuable, and the ancient carpet spread on the gleaming wood floor was possibly priceless.

There were deep cushioned seats in the window embrasures, and on the wall opposite the bed long glass doors had been fitted into the stone, giving access to a balcony with a wrought-iron rail and a stunning view over the sea.

Alfredo, observing her reaction with discreet satisfaction, pointed to a door in the corner of the room. ‘That is the
signore’s
dressing room.’ He opened another door in the opposite corner. ‘And here—the bathroom,
signorina
.’

Peeping past him, Flora saw it contained a sunken bath as well as an imposing circular shower cubicle.

She said quietly, ‘It’s all—so beautiful. I can hardly believe I’m not dreaming.’

He bowed politely. ‘Please tell Ninetta if there is anything you need,
signorina
.’

While the maid dealt speedily with the contents of her case Flora opened the balcony doors and went outside. Below her was a tangle of trees, the silvery shimmer of olives punctuated by the deep green of cypresses standing like tall sentinels, and she could see amongst them the paler line of a track going down towards the sea.

The air was warm, and heavy with the scent of flowers and the hum of insects. Slowly, Flora felt herself begin to relax.

When you’re out of your depth—float, she told herself.

So when Marco came to stand behind her, and slid his arms round her waist, she leaned back in his embrace, smiling as his lips found the leaping pulse in her throat.