The Impatient Groom (8 page)

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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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‘Years of practice. Venetians have a reputation for being quick-witted. You don't build a reputation as a nation of merchant princes without a certain amount of deviousness.' Rozzano lifted one hand and fiddled with her hair. ‘Gypsophila. Stand still,' he ordered, when she fidgeted. His eyes twinkled into hers. ‘Must get rid of it. Too,
too passe!' he drawled, his smiling face wonderfully close.
Sophia laughed. ‘OK,' she said, coming back to practicalities, ‘we escaped. But how do we get back?'
‘No idea. I'll come up with something. In the meantime, after we've organised your passport, why don't we see the sights?' he suggested, tucking her arm in his. ‘Tony told me there's a sightseeing bus that takes you to places like the Tower of London and the Houses of Parliament. You can get off wherever you like, and catch a later bus to continue the journey—'
‘You, on a bus?' This she had to see!
‘I have to admit it'll be a first,' he acknowledged, his mouth curving into a self-deprecating smile. ‘I'm rather looking forward to it.'
 
That evening, in a tiny bistro somewhere in Mayfair, she slipped off her shoes beneath the minute, pleasingly intimate table and decided that this had been one of the happiest days of her life.
‘My feet will never be the same again!' she groaned, wriggling her toes in relief.
Rozzano smiled and raised his glass to her. ‘I'm not surprised. We must have walked miles.' His fingers caressed her cheek with heart-stopping tenderness. ‘I've never had so much fun, laughed so much or been quite so anonymous. It was wonderful.'
‘And your favourite part of the day?' she asked softly.
He hesitated, fingering the prongs of his pudding fork. ‘The river trip. Without question.'
Her eyes went dreamy. He'd cuddled her, saying she must be cold. And once he'd kissed her exuberantly on the cheek and given her a squeeze, saying happily that he was having the time of his life.
With a kiss of her fingers, he excused himself from the table. Sophia sat in a contented daze, nibbling the mints that had accompanied the coffee. A while later, she watched him saunter back through the bistro, seeing how everyone stared enviously. She let the glow of happiness steal over her.
‘Are you ready to go?' he murmured.
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Depends. If I have- to climb up the hotel rubbish chute, I need notice, a rope and a crampon or two.'
He leant forward and kissed her on the mouth, his eyes laughing at her look of astonished delight. ‘Nothing so alarming. I've just organised a hide-away—a furnished flat for us to rent nearby. Let's check it out and make ourselves comfortable for the night.'
Her jaw dropped. ‘But... our things are at the hotel!' she protested.
‘They're being packed right this minute. A porter will bring them over,' he said airily, guiding her out and drawing her close for warmth in the still, cool night. ‘This way. It's not far. Better than a hotel surrounded by the press, don't you think?'
‘But it's nearly midnight! No flat agency can possibly be open—'
‘The hotel manager pulled strings for me. Here we are.'
He had stopped outside a wonderful Georgian building overlooking a small square. Dazed, she followed him up the broad stone steps and waited while he rang a bell. A deferential young woman, about her own age but beautifully dressed and coiffed, opened the door and showed them around the enormous, ground-floor apartment.
It must cost an arm and a leg! Sophia thought. No. Two arms, two legs and an entire torso.
‘I put some basic foods in the fridge as you suggested,' the woman purred, standing far too close to Rozzano.
Hating the woman's blatant invitation, Sophia pretended indifference by wandering into the huge stainlesssteel kitchen to check out the giant larder fridge. Oh, yes. The usual stuff. Basic groceries. Champagne, caviare, quail and raspberries!
‘Will it do?' Rozzano asked, appearing at the door.
She eyed him in mock exasperation. ‘Not my brand of caviare, but—'
‘Will it do?' he repeated, his stern frown ruined by the laughter tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘We have to sleep somewhere. It's too late to try anywhere else,' she said grudgingly.
Rozzano exhaled as if in relief, then came forward and kissed her softly on the mouth. The doorbell rang, making her jump, and they drew apart.
‘Your luggage has arrived,' the agency woman announced. ‘And would you sign the documents?'
‘Shan't be a moment,' he promised Sophia. He pressed her hand. ‘We'll be alone soon.'
What had he meant by that? As he went back into the drawing room, he turned and gave her a sultry, meaningful look which totally unnerved her. He couldn't be thinking of... No! It was impossible!
Sophia took several deep breaths. She could make a pot of tea, unpack, or let her bones melt into the floor. Close to surrendering to the latter, she supervised the moving of her case into one of the large double bedrooms. The maid who'd brought the luggage insisted on unpacking for her.
Sophia was startled to see that the designer outfits, shoes and gorgeous underwear had been mistakenly ineluded.
She'd have to speak to Rozzano about that, she thought uncomfortably.
The maid left. Feeling edgy about Rozzano's intentions, Sophia returned to the drawing room and slid back the heavy brocade curtains to stare out at the little park across the street. Typical of London's Georgian squares, it looked mysterious and magical in the light of the old street lanterns.
The outer door closed. She heard the sound of his footsteps coming slowly, relentlessly towards her and she went rigid, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up.
Had he set her up to continue what they'd started? She went cold, fearing he expected them to finish the day with a bedtime romp. But, as much as she secretly desired him, her principles were too ingrained for casual sex.
She'd tell him she was tired. Do a yawn or two. Say she felt sick, had mumps, cholera—anything to keep him at bay.
But... Her brow furrowed. Why had he been so attentive? She was far too ordinary. In the course of the day they'd passed a hundred women who were sexier, better groomed, more beautiful.
She froze, her eyes darkening with dismay. There could be another reason. During the river trip, he'd told her that some rich people became easily bored and jaded. They searched, he'd said, carefully watching her, for something or someone to amuse them.
A shiver ran down her spine. She'd thought he'd been warning her—but... Maybe he was preparing her and letting her know that she wasn't important to him, just fun, just different and an entertaining little episode in his life.
He paused right behind her and her breathing stopped altogether with fear. Disappointment flooded through her whole body. Her respect for Rozzano plunged. A wonderful
day would be spoiled, a friendship would hit the dust. And she realised how much she'd been relying on him to help her through the next week or so. A sob rose to her throat but she masked it with a cough.
His hand pushed away her hair. She felt the pressure of his mouth on her bare neck and for a moment she let it stay there, her eyes closing in pained delight. Then she moved a fraction—but her action brought Rozzano's lips to her ear, which he nibbled so delicately that her whole body went into pleasurable paralysis.
‘I lied to you when I said I enjoyed the river trip the most today,' he whispered.
Focussed on the sensations flashing through her and the bewildering immobility of her limbs, she dragged in a ragged breath to protest at his familiarity. ‘Rozzano—!'
‘Best of all,' he growled, slowly turning her helpless body around, ‘was just being with you. Touching you. Holding you.' The darkness of his eyes blazed briefly with a fierce light and then became a fathomless black again. ‘If I'm not careful, Sophia,' he muttered, ‘I‘11 be falling in love with you.'
His mouth covered hers as it opened in blank astonishment and it was warm and moist, more voluptuous and arousing than anything she'd ever known. The kiss went on for ever and she knew to her consternation that she was utterly, fatally attracted to him and she wanted him . to fall in love more than anything in the world. And yet she knew that almost certainly she would regret her infatuation—and any surrender she might make.
‘Goodnight, Sophia,' he whispered, his breath sweet and tantalising on her lips. And before she'd jerked herself out of her stunned stupor he had gone.
During the next few days he overcame her doubts every time he touched her. She knew how stupid that was, but she couldn't stop herself from responding.
Together for every wonderful second from breakfast to bedtime, they behaved as lovers, laughing, chatting, or sharing long and happy silences and content to be in one another's company. But at night they went to their separate beds after long and searching embraces which left her feeling empty and frustrated, furious and desperately cheated.
As they walked back to the flat one afternoon, after exploring Dickens' London, she fell silent, knowing that she was falling in love. Yet in her heart of hearts she knew that he wasn't really serious about their relationship. It could only be an amusing fling, one he'd describe to his friends. There was no mileage in it and she'd get hurt.
Then they rounded a corner and came face to face with a crowd of assorted photographers and journalists.
‘They've found us!' she wailed.
Rozzano's arms came protectively around her as he tried to push a way through. Cameras flashed and they were bumped and barged as photographers crouched to get a shot of their faces and reporters thrust microphones at them.
‘Oy! Give us a break!'
‘Sophia! Over here! Sophia!'
‘You two shacking up together?'
She felt defiled, suffocated, and absolutely terrified. They were completely surrounded by jostling bodies. Gasping with fear, she looked around and saw staring, avid eyes and open, yelling mouths. Strangers shouted her name. Hands grabbed at her. She felt an elbow in her ribs, heard herself grunt with pain and then came
Rozzano's furious roar as he surged through them all, his sudden charge driving the two of them relentlessly to the door and the safety beyond.
At last she heard the door slam and collapsed in relief. Whimpering with frustrated anger at her feebleness, she let Rozzano carry her to her bed and revive her with a stiff brandy. He drew up a chair and sat close to her while her huge eyes stared at him in mute despair.
She lay there shuddering. ‘It was like a pack of dogs hunting down deer,' she said in horror. ‘And for what end? A page or two of gossip!'
The pack was still outside, making an awful racket. Fearfully she looked towards the curtained window, wishing she could drive them all away.
His fingers traced the faint bruises which were beginning to show on her skin, where she'd been pulled this way and that ‘I'm sorry.' Gently he kissed the scratch on her arm, made by someone's metal watch-strap.
She drew in a shaky little breath. ‘Not your fault. It was awful. I don't want to go through that ever again!'
‘I know,' he soothed, stroking her cold, clammy forehead. ‘We can't go on like this, Sophia,' he said sternly. ‘It has to end.'
End! She drew in a long, harsh breath of anguish. She wanted to catch him to her, to demand that he never left, but she managed to stop herself.
Her stomach muscles clenched convulsively. This was it. ‘Yes,' she said dully.
‘Good. I'll arrange for us to go to Venice tomorrow,' he said in a soft undertone.
Startled, she lowered her gaze. He wanted it to continue, then, to enjoy the novelty of seeing his city through her eyes. No. She wouldn't let him encourage her to
amuse him and then dump her when she ceased to entertain him with her quaint country ways!
With great dignity, she sat up. ‘You go. I've decided...' It had started well, but the words had stuck in her throat. Breathing quickly, her face as white as chalk, she forced herself to say what she must, speaking in a toneless babble. ‘I think we should go our separate ways.'
‘What?'
he exclaimed in amazement
She hurried on. ‘There's no reason for me to stay in London now the press know where we are.'
He stared, his face paling visibly. ‘No!' he objected beneath his breath.
‘It's the most sensible solution. I'm going home. I'll get to Venice in my own time—'
He stood up sharply, his chair crashing over. She stared at him in surprise because he looked...shattered. Her heart stopped and then fluttered erratically.
‘You can't go!' he muttered thickly. Then he shook his head, as if clearing it—and as if he too was astonished by what he'd said. She stared at him in shock, unable to comprehend the devastation in his eyes.

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