It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Julia James
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It also required a considerable staff to run it and, to Emily’s embarrassment, they were all lined up waiting to welcome her in high excitement.
If they only knew, she thought bitterly, that their new Contessa is a total fraud.
And a worried fraud at that, for she seemed to have been assigned the most enormous bedroom, with the largest canopied bed she’d ever seen, and the maids who unpacked for her were exchanging conspiratorial smiles as they arranged her prettiest white nightdress across the embroidered coverlet.
Emily felt her throat tighten in fright. In spite of Raf’s assurances, it seemed obvious that the scene was being set for the ritual deflowering of the latest Di Salis bride.
And her nervousness increased when she discovered that, as well as doors to a dressing room and a large bathroom, there was also direct access to an adjoining and equally imposing room, which bore all the signs of male occupation. And realised that, although this door had an ornate lock, there was no key to go with it.
Dinner was served much later than she was accustomed to and, while the food was delicious, she had little appetite for it and none at all for the wine which accompanied it.
She needed, she thought, to stay very, very sober.
And, even if she wasn’t hungry, to make the meal last as long as possible.
‘You look tired,’ Raf commented, as the cheese course was being cleared.
‘A little,’ she returned cautiously. She was actually dead on her feet but she wasn’t going to admit as much.
‘It has been a long day,’ he said, confirming all her worst fears by adding, ‘I suggest you go to bed.’ He paused. ‘Can you find your way back to your room?’
‘Of course,’ she said too quickly, in case he offered to escort her.
‘If you get lost, call out and eager rescuers will immediately appear.’ He smiled at her. ‘You are an object of fascination for the entire household, you understand.’
‘Yes,’ she returned tautly. ‘I—gathered that.’
Raf was leaning back in his chair, his lean fingers playing with the stem of his wineglass.
‘You looked very lovely today, mia cara,’ he said quietly. ‘Your dress was charming.’
‘It—it wasn’t new. I wore it when Daddy took me to Ascot one time.’ She remembered with a pang how joyously she’d chosen the slender cream silk shift just skimming her knees.
She added stiffly, ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘If you had worn it a hundred times, you would have looked no less beautiful.’
The conversation was taking altogether too personal a turn, she decided, and pushed back her chair, pretending to yawn.
‘I think maybe you’re right and I should call it a day.’
He rose too. ‘Then I wish you goodnight.’
She murmured something in reply and went, trying not to hurry too obviously. At least he hadn’t attempted to kiss her, she thought, as she went up the wide sweep of staircase. Nor was he following her.
But she breathed more easily when she reached her room and, having stumblingly dismissed the maid who was waiting to assist her, showered and cleaned her teeth in the palatial bathroom, then put on the nightdress that Penny must have substituted for the satin pyjamas she’d intended to bring and climbed up into that monster of a bed.
It was a very comfortable monster, she discovered, and the linen was scented with rose-water. But she couldn’t relax. She kept watching the communicating door, asking herself what she would do if it opened, and dreading the moment when she might be called on to make a decision.
But, just when she’d resolved it was safe enough to put out the lamp and get some sleep, she heard a faint noise and looked up to see Raf standing there in the open doorway. He was barefoot, his jacket and tie discarded and his shirt half-unbuttoned, revealing the strong column of his throat and the dark smooth skin of his chest.
For what seemed an eternity they stared at each other. Emily sat transfixed, her heart thudding erratically, her mouth suddenly dry, aware that one lacy strap had slipped down from her shoulder, but not daring to adjust it. Just waiting for him to say something—do something.
But when he moved, it was simply to put out a hand and steady himself against the doorframe. For a terrible moment she thought he was drunk and tensed involuntarily. However, when he spoke his voice was crisp and clear, without slurring.
‘Emilia, my household has—expectations about tonight and its usual significance, which may have caused you concern.
‘I wish to say that you have no need to fear that I will break my word to you. Today’s ceremony changed nothing and our marriage is still a business arrangement which can—will remain in name only, as you wish. Then, when you are twenty one, you will be free to live your own life and—find happiness.’
He made her a slight bow, then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.
For a long time, Emily recalled, she’d sat quite still, gazing unseeingly into space, aware only of the still-flurried race of her heart. And when, eventually, she’d reached for the lamp switch, she’d discovered that her hand was shaking uncontrollably.
Just as it was trembling again now, at this moment, as she picked up the carton of coffee in front of her and drank.
Why am I doing this to myself? she asked with a kind of desperation. Remembering all this—stuff. It must be the most pointless exercise of my entire life. Because it changes nothing. It can’t…
But perhaps it was something she needed to do, if only to convince herself that the stance she was taking was completely justified. That her relationship with Raf Di Salis had been null and void from the beginning and that it was hypocritical to pretend otherwise.
Although she could quite see that it would be a blow to Raf’s amour-propre to be forced to admit openly that his wife was not among his numerous conquests.
In fact, he’d been prepared to go to considerable lengths to present a very different picture of their relationship, she recalled, wincing.
It had been the morning after the wedding and it seemed to Emily that she’d only just managed to drop into a restless sleep when she had been woken by a hand on her shoulder and opened heavy eyes to see Raf standing beside the bed.
She’d sat up, pushing back her hair, instantly defensive.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice was husky.
His mouth tightened. ‘To give you this.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Open it,’ he directed.
She obeyed and gasped when she saw the beautiful square sapphire enclosed by small diamonds that it contained.
‘An engagement ring?’ She frowned in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that?’
‘It is a family tradition,’ he said quietly. ‘This ring is given by each Count to his bride on the first day of their honeymoon as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’
Her face flamed. ‘No way.’
‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear? Now put it on.’
She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made for her alone.
‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about?’ she asked haughtily.
‘If