The Forced Bride. Sara Craven
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dangling incongruously from a fastidious forefinger.
His brows lifted. ‘A gift from an admirer?’ His tone was coolly dispassionate.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she returned curtly. If she’d blushed before, she was burning now from head to foot. Oh, why hadn’t she waited until she was safely in her room to open her parcel? For him, of all men, to see Simon’s present. ‘May I have them back, please?’
‘Certamente.’ He dropped them back into their wrappings with an almost disdainful flick of the hand.
Emily bit her lip. All she really wanted to do now was walk away from him and die in a place where her corpse would never be discovered. On the other hand, she didn’t want her father to receive a full description of the incident, she realised resignedly. So—something would have to be done.
She said stiltedly, ‘I—I thought you were out walking.’
He shrugged. ‘Your father suggested I return in time for tea. He said it was quite an occasion.’ He glanced down at the bra and thong, his mouth twisting. ‘I see he was right.’
‘They were intended as a joke,’ she said quickly. ‘But I don’t think Daddy would find it very funny.’
‘Then, perhaps, we should not distress him by mentioning it.’
‘No,’ she said. Adding reluctantly, ‘Thank you.’
She waited, but he made no attempt to move, and she was aware of his gaze resting on her reflectively.
She cleared her throat. ‘I—I know what you must be thinking…’
‘No,’ he said quite gently. ‘You do not.’ And handed her the card with Simon’s message. ‘As a matter of fact, I too am enjoying a fantasy,’ he went on. ‘But mine does not involve clothing—of any kind.’
He gave her a cool, impersonal smile and walked on, leaving Emily gasping as if she’d been winded.
She spent a long time in her room, trying to summon up the courage to go down and face the tiny sandwiches, the featherlight scones with cream and the huge elaborate Christmas cake that Mrs Penistone had provided. Because she’d be expected to sample all of them under the sardonic gaze of their guest, and any loss of appetite would be noted and commented on by her father.
Which, in turn, would provide further opportunities for that appalling—that vile Rafaele Di Salis to amuse himself at her expense, she realised stormily.
Because that was all it had been. Yet another dubious joke, but one which he’d had no right to make.
Except that a girl who’d just received a secret gift of suggestive underwear from her boyfriend could hardly be prim about some mild sexual teasing. But, however she rationalised it, the memory still made her squirm uncomfortably.
I just wish he’d complete his business with Daddy and go, she told herself as she put the underwear back in its wrappings and buried it deep in a drawer, then went slowly and reluctantly down to the drawing room.
‘Well?’ Simon breathed into her ear. ‘Are you wearing them?’
Emily looked down at herself—at the demure white silk shirt with its deep Puritan-style collar, and the ankle-length velvet skirt in shades of dark blue and turquoise.
‘Er—no.’ She made her tone placatory. ‘They didn’t seem quite right—not under this.’
‘Well, maybe,’ he conceded moodily. ‘Tell me something, Em. Don’t you ever get tired of playing Daddy’s little girl? You’re past the age of consent, so isn’t it time you grew up and started being a woman? My woman, in fact?’
She gasped. ‘I thought we’d agreed to wait.’
‘And I’ve been waiting, for God’s sake. Have a heart, honey. I’m only human and I’m getting sick of walking away from you with just an ache in my guts.’
Her cheeks warmed and she looked round in embarrassment. ‘Simon—keep your voice down. People will hear you.’
‘What are they going to hear? That I want you? That’ll come as no surprise to anyone in the neighbourhood—except your father, maybe.’ He moved fractionally closer. ‘Isn’t there some way we can be together, sweetheart?’
‘You mean this evening?’ Emily was incredulous. ‘But I’m my father’s hostess. I can’t just—disappear. Besides, I’m under orders to make sure that our house guest meets everyone,’ she added with a touch of bitterness.
‘You mean the tall Mediterranean job who’s been roaming round the village lately?’ Simon snorted. ‘I wouldn’t worry about him.’
‘But I have to worry. I was in trouble yesterday for spending time in my room when I should have been dancing attendance on him. Daddy actually ticked me off about it, when I was on my way up to bed.’
She sighed. ‘So now I’m supposed to compensate for yesterday’s rudeness by looking after him tonight. Making sure he’s not bored—keeping his drink freshened and all that stuff.’
‘You could have a problem there,’ Simon informed her. ‘Because all the women in the room are clustered round him, drooling. You’d probably have to kill to reach him.’ His voice sank to a persuasive whisper. ‘Sweetheart, this is a big house. There must be somewhere we can go—just for a while?’
Emily bit her lip. Was that how he wanted their first time together? she asked herself, troubled. A snatched encounter in some empty bedroom with the threat of discovery hanging over them?
She said quietly, ‘Simon, I can’t. My father’s bound to miss me and we can’t take the risk.’
‘Later, then. When the party’s over and everyone’s gone.’ His voice was urgent. ‘I’ll give it a couple of hours, then I’ll come back across the garden, so leave the conservatory unlocked for me, hmm?’
He paused. ‘Please, darling. It would mean so much to know you’re ready to trust yourself to me.’
Emily hesitated miserably, then nodded. ‘If—that’s what you want.’
His grin was triumphant. ‘Oh, you’ll want it too, my pet, I promise you that. And wear my present, eh?’
Emily moved away, aware that her mouth was dry and her heart thudding uncomfortably. Some instinct made her look across the room and she realised that, hemmed in as he was, Rafaele Di Salis was watching her, his dark face expressionless.
And she’d already turned away before she remembered she’d intended to stare back.
She was on edge for the rest of the evening. Someone—some stranger outside herself—moved through the groups of people, smiling and talking, but was unable to recollect a single word that had been said.
However there was nothing wrong with her eyesight. And it seemed that Simon had been perfectly correct about Rafaele Di Salis’s ability to attract the women in the room. In particular, Jilly Aubrey seemed so attached to his side that it would probably need a surgical operation to remove her. Which proved, Emily told herself waspishly, that there was no accounting for taste.
It seemed to have been a good party, however. Everyone was saying so as they reluctantly departed. In the hallway, someone produced a sprig of mistletoe and kisses were freely exchanged amid laughter and cheering. Emily had to submit to her fair share, smiling with spurious brightness as she did so. But Simon was not among the claimants.
‘I didn’t see the Aubreys leave.’ She tried to speak casually as the door closed behind their last guests.
‘They went nearly an hour ago,’ Sir Travers returned. ‘Apart from the girl Jillian,’ he added disapprovingly. ‘She stayed on, having persuaded to Rafaele to drive her home later.’
Now why does that not surprise me? Emily thought ironically.