The Impatient Groom (10 page)

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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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Her head was spinning as he named them in loving tones, almost as if they all belonged to him personally. And she began to realise for the first time the enormity
of what she was taking on and how much she would need Rozzano's good advice.
‘I could look on this scene for the rest of my life and never tire of it,' she said softly.
‘I think that could be arranged!' he teased. ‘And... ah...what about this
palazzo
? Interesting, do you think?'
She followed his pointing finger and sighed in pleasure. ‘For once you've made an understatement. It's fabulous.'
It rose majestically, five storeys high from the canal, boasting a dozen blue and white striped
bricoli
and several small landing stages sheltered by royal-blue awnings. Above a vast arched door that met in a graceful point were delicate stone balconies with pillars surrounding tall arched windows, each of which was intricately latticed.
‘Glad you think so.' Rozzano's voice had shaken a little. She turned enquiringly, but his eyes were fixed keenly ahead on the honey-coloured building as the launch turned towards it. And his smile was beatific as he said, ‘This has been my home for the past five years.'
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘Now I understand your eagerness to come home to your
palazzo
!' she said enviously.
He gave an enigmatic smile and, to her surprise, he motioned the boatman to tie up to the jetty.
‘Is this where we get off?' she asked. ‘Are we to walk to the D'Antiga palace?'
She felt a slight disappointment. It would have been lovely if her grandfather's house had been on the Grand Canal itself, but it seemed it must be in the maze of back alleys and canals beyond.
‘Only the Doge's palace is called a
palazzo
. All the other palaces are called “houses”. And this particular
one,' he said softly, as he handed her onto the landing stage, ‘is the Ca' D‘Antiga.'
Astonished, she whirled, alerted by the love in his voice and the passion lurking in his eyes. A fool could have deduced that he felt deeply about this breathtaking palace.
And yet it didn't belong to him. Her grandfather owned it...and one day it would be hers. She shivered despite the warmth of the sun. Something was nagging in the back of her brain. A terrible, treacherous thought that she wouldn't allow to surface.
‘But...don't you have a home of your own?' she asked jerkily. Bewildered, she noted the increased tension in his hand where it gripped her elbow.
‘Yes,' he said, sounding faintly strained. ‘I own Ca' Barsini. It's further up, near the Rialto Bridge.'
He paused for a moment at the sound of a siren. His arm came around Sophia's waist as an ambulance boat roared past, trailing a wail of sound and producing a strong wake that rocked the pontoon.
‘Why don't you live there?' she pursued, disappointed that he hastily detached himself the moment the movement had stopped.
‘Because my brother and his wife and children are there. Enrico can entertain to his heart's content—he's a very social animal,' he said with detectably false enthusiasm. Seeing her questioning eyes, he added reluctantly, ‘Enrico needs to be out of my shadow. Elder brothers can be hard to live up to. It's important he has his own life. I've made this my home because your grandfather likes to have me around. We're very close.'
‘You've obviously been devoted to him,' she conceded slowly.
But why? her mind kept demanding. And she was determined
to find out. Fluttering nerves skittered up and down her body as he propelled her towards the watergate.
‘Wait a minute!' she said suddenly. She fumbled in her bag and took out her ring, slipping it on her finger. ‘The press won't leap on us indoors,' she said, happily turning her hand this way and that. It was beautiful. Rozzano's commitment to her. Now she felt properly engaged.
‘Sophia...' He studied his shoes. Every ounce of his body was rigid with tension.
She stiffened in apprehension. ‘What is it?' she asked uneasily.
‘I don't know how to say this...'
His hard, uncompromising profile said it for him. Bad news was on the way. She steeled herself, shutting out the horrid little voice which said that her happiness had been too good to last.
‘Go on!' she challenged quietly.
It seemed he couldn't speak for a moment and that made her even more jittery. Then, in a rush—as if eager to get his speech over with—he said, ‘I think the sudden announcement of our engagement might be too much for your grandfather to take.'
Sophia felt her body freeze. All her doubts crystallised. He wanted to keep it a secret, she thought, and she realised that she'd
never
been totally sure of Rozzano, otherwise she wouldn't be leaping to such a terrible conclusion. She was so insecure in his love that it was even possible for her to wonder if this was his way of easing out of the relationship. A gentle let-down now, a gradual drifting away, and she'd be sidelined before she knew it...
But, part of her argued, he'd bought a valuable ring.
Why propose to her and then drop her within the course of a day or so? He'd gained nothing. Yet.
Her head ached. Why was she thinking these shocking things about Rozzano? She loved him! She should trust him implicitly!
‘Speak to me, Sophia,' he said harshly.
Stone-cold despite the warm air, she knew her voice would betray her hysteria and so she kept her response to a brief, ‘What are you suggesting we do?'
Beside her she felt the hiss of exasperation as it was expelled through his teeth. ‘Keep it a secret for the time being. I know what I'm asking, but you must see my point of view. He's emotionally fragile, Sophia. Your arrival will be all he can cope with. Please understand. I care about him very much. He's treated me like a son. Let's wait till we think he's ready.'
‘A short time ago we were getting married in a rush because of him,' she reminded him sharply.
That brought a quick frown to his face. ‘We
are!
But let's take one step at a time with him—'
‘Are you ashamed of me?' she accused, her eyes as dark as charcoal.
‘No!'
Clearly angry at that suggestion, he was nevertheless struggling for words to explain. Tell me you love me, her eyes pleaded. Reassure me.
He shot her a quick glance but never saw her plea—or, if he did, he ignored it. ‘Give him a week, ten days at most to get over the excitement of meeting you,' he said shortly. ‘It won't be easy for him, seeing you. I expect your appearance will bring back to him some painful memories of your mother.'
‘I suppose so,' she conceded reluctantly.
‘It needn't make any difference to us,' he coaxed. ‘We
can go ahead and make all the arrangements then tell him gently.'
At least he was still talking about making preparations for the wedding, she consoled herself. She relaxed a little. ‘Will he disapprove?' she asked bluntly.
‘I think he'll be delighted. Give him breathing space first. I'd hate the excitement to become too much for him.'
How could she refuse? It would seem churlish. But she hated the idea, even though it made perfect sense. Her tapered fingertip smoothed over her beautiful ring. Stupidly, her lower lip wobbled.
Seeing she was close to tears, Rozzano hastily pushed open the heavy oak door and drew her into the privacy of a huge and airy entrance hall.
She stared numbly down its length to the slender colonnades of a sunny courtyard beyond. She barely registered the scent of honeysuckle drifting from the open windows, though normally she would have commented on it in delight.
But she was too panic-stricken about removing the symbol of their love. Maybe it was superstitious nonsense, but without it she felt that their relationship would definitely founder.
However, she wouldn't defy him. Her grandfather's health was too important. She realised that her relationship with Rozzano would live or die for more reasons than the fact she wore his ring.
‘You're right,' she said, generously giving him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I'll take it off.'
Gently she eased the ring up her finger though she was unable to stop her mouth from drooping with misery. It could have been a trinket they'd chosen from a cheap
store and she would have been just as upset about removing it.
Feeling forlorn, she slipped it from her finger and returned it to the zip pocket of her bag. All the time she was wishing that he would kiss her, and persuade her that everything was all right.
‘Principe!'
‘Flavial' All smiles suddenly, he hurried forward and, to her astonishment, embraced a grey-uniformed, middleaged maid. There was a little joshing and plenty of laughter and then she was introduced. ‘Flavia has known me all my life,' he said, as the two women shook hands warmly. ‘Her mother was Father's cook. Don't be surprised if you find her giving you advice. Our families are so intertwined that she has an opinion on everything we do—and sometimes she treats me like a brainless brother!'
Sophia gave a weak smile. He spoke again to Flavia and then she left them.
‘Come upstairs to the salon,' he said lightly. ‘We'll wait there. I've asked Flavia to tell your grandfather we've arrived.'
Very much at home in his surroundings, he led the way up the grand double staircase. Sophia swallowed nervously, intimidated by the massive oil paintings of haughty-looking men and women who must be her ancestors.
This was all too much for her to handle! She hesitated, filled with an overwhelming urge to turn tail and run, but Rozzano pressed her hand, moving her on again, and she looked up at him gratefully, glad of his understanding.
But when he spoke she discovered why he was caressing her. It wasn't out of sympathy at all.
‘I know I shouldn't be touching you and that makes
the situation highly arousing.' He gave her a wicked glance with his smouldering eyes. ‘We must pretend to be polite strangers when people are around. Hell! I'll go mad with frustration! I'll live for the night, when I can sneak to your room and we can make passionate love to one another.' His voice curled into every corner of her body, heating it, coaxing her with its sensual murmur. He lowered his pitch. ‘Think of it, Sophia! It'll be fun.'
Fun. Her skin prickled in warning. It was a game to him! A game of ‘don't touch', delicious and forbidden—like the games men played with their mistresses when their wives were around.
Fun. Her heart sank. He'd have sexual satisfaction without responsibility. And each day she'd have to pretend she didn't care for him at all. No. Her mouth firmed in mutiny.
‘I can't—won‘t—live a lie,' she said flatly. ‘I had no idea you meant me to pretend that I hardly know you.'
His eyes narrowed. ‘I'm not asking you to lie, just to contain your feelings. We've both been forced into that strait-jacket before. You've been used to doing that all your life,' he threw back at her in a hoarse rasp, a horrible harshness roughening the normal musical rise and fall of his lyrical voice.
‘And I don't want to do it again!' she cried passionately. ‘I want to be what I am! To show emotion when I feel it, to laugh and sing and cry...'
Her voice faded away, her throat blocked with choking misery. She wanted to show her love for him, not to hide it as if it were something shameful.
But a single-minded determination glittered in the unreadable depths of his dark eyes. ‘I understand that. I have my reasons for asking you to do this. Good reasons.
You mustn't show that you care for me. Promise me, Sophia!' he said in a fierce hiss.
She halted at the top of the stairs, shocked by his vehemence. Sweet heaven! she thought in horror. Everything was going wrong. Had she made a terrible mistake? Perhaps there really had been a hidden agenda for his whirlwind courtship, something even more sinister than the titillation of a tired palate!
She would have swayed, but pride steadied her. Until she knew what was really behind his proposal, she would resist any attempt by him to hurry her into marriage. If that was what he'd ever intended.
Her legs wobbled as if she were on shifting sands. But she only had herself to blame. She'd been too ready to believe him, too eager to fall for the rosy, romantic future he had painted. Not any more.
Angry and upset, she gritted her teeth and forced a smile even though she felt her heart would break.
‘I'll show no sign of affection in public, you can be sure of that.'
‘Excellent!'
Out came the dazzling grin, right on cue. It was as if clouds had momentarily obscured his face, she thought miserably. Now he was getting his own way—as he be-Neved—the sun had come out again.

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