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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minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.
She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would be under scrutiny, however discreet.
Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.
‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.
It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.
‘Another formality,’ he said softly, as he straightened. ‘Accustom yourself.’
And she’d nodded, unable to speak.
And formal was how their relationship had remained in every respect, for which she could only be grateful. True to his word, Raf had never visited her bedroom again, or attempted to make physical demands on her in any way.
But that had been an easy promise to a girl who was too young and inexperienced to appeal to his sophisticated tastes anyway, she reminded herself tautly. Someone he’d been saddled with, simply because he owed her dying father.
It occurred to her that, for a supposed honeymoon, there had been very little privacy, although Raf himself seemed unaware or uncaring of the fact that they were the cynosure of all eyes.
Not that they were together that much, and she was thankful that the house and its gardens were vast enough for her to be able to make herself scarce most of the time. After all, she had the excuse that she was exploring her new surroundings.
But there were times when she was obliged to be in his company and she found this a strain, conscious always of his cool politeness. At mealtimes in particular, because there were servants present, she struggled, trying to respond to his efforts to engage her in conversation and to smile back at him as if she was really the fulfilled and loving bride of everyone’s expectations.
Perhaps the most successful times were the days when he took her into Rome with him, showing her all the usual tourist sights, but also allowing her a glimpse of his own city, the hidden side that the visiting swarms never saw.
But she was relieved when the supposed honeymoon ended and she was able to fly back to Britain. Although even this had its awkward moment.
Raf had ordered champagne on the flight and, when it came, he raised his glass in a toast to her.
‘I am proud of you, mia cara,’ he told her quietly. ‘It cannot have been easy for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Emily did not look at him. ‘It wasn’t—that bad—in the end. And your house is wonderful,’ she added stiltedly. ‘But I’ll be glad to be home again and get back to normal life.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Do I take it you will be in no hurry to return to Italy?’ His tone was mildly curious.
‘Well, that wasn’t part of the deal, was it?’ she returned defensively. ‘I thought I’d be living in England.’
‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’ He paused again. ‘Perhaps I was hoping, Emilia, that even if we are not lovers, we might become—friends. Learn to enjoy being together. What do you think?’
‘That it’s not very likely. After all, we come from totally different worlds, and you have a very busy life.’ She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass as if they fascinated her. ‘You don’t have to be kind. Really. I’ll be fine.’
‘But there will be times when we shall be obliged to meet,’ he said curtly. ‘When I shall need you to act as my hostess. I did explain this to you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The formalities again.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t have to worry. I’ll do my best to carry out my duties to your satisfaction.’
‘Grazie, mia sposa.’ His voice was ironic, almost harsh. ‘Then that is how it shall be.’
And that was how it had been, Emily told herself. At first, Raf’s visits to England had been frequent and his calls on her services quite exacting, but as the months had passed they’d become more and more rare.
And at the same time, she’d discovered the first newspaper stories of his liaison with one of the Italian film industry’s rising young stars, Luisa Danni.
For a while she’d felt stunned. But, after all, what else could she reasonably have expected? Just because she preferred to sleep alone, there was no reason for Raf to be celibate too, she told herself over and over again. That had never been part of the deal.
So there would be no accusations—no recriminations. No reproaches either. In fact, no reaction at all.
She would continue to be polite and pleasant when she saw him, play the part required of her when necessary, and try not to think about him at all when he was absent.
Besides, if she said anything, it might seem as if she cared. As if his infidelity actually mattered to her. And that wasn’t true. It wasn’t true at all.
So she would ignore the whole sordid situation and simply live for the time when she would no longer be his unwanted wife. When she would be free of him.
And that time, thought Emily, staring through the train window at the flying countryside, that time is now.
My marriage is over and there’s nothing on this earth that Raf Di Salis can do about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS dark when Emily got to Glasgow, and pitch black when she arrived at last at Kilrossan. But her journey, though lengthy, had run like clockwork and she’d had no trouble making her connection.
As she descended on to the cold and windy platform and stood for a moment ruefully easing her spine, a rangy young man approached out of the gloom.
‘You’ll be Miss Blake, I’m thinking.’ Voice and smile were cheerful. ‘I have the Jeep waiting.’
He took the suitcase crammed with warm clothing and the bag of books from her and set off towards the exit.
‘I’m Angus McEwen, by the way,’ he added. ‘It’s my auntie who looks after the cottage for the owners, although there aren’t many visitors at this time of year.’
‘I wanted to find somewhere quiet and remote,’ Emily told him, huddling gratefully into her fleece.
He laughed. ‘Well, it’s that all right.’
‘It’s also absolutely freezing!’
‘There’s snow expected.’ He stowed her bags in the back of the Jeep and they set off.
She said stiltedly, ‘It’s very good of you to come and collect me at this time in the evening.’
‘All part of the service. I’m home on leave and like to keep occupied.’ He paused. ‘How did you hear about the cottage?’
‘Through a friend.’
‘It’s a shame it’s so dark because the scenery around here’s something grand,’ he told her. ‘Mind you, they say the desert’s beautiful too, but I can’t see it myself.’
‘Is that where you work?’
He nodded. ‘I started on the oil rigs but now I’m on a contract in Saudi.’ He paused again. ‘Are you a walker, Miss Blake? Because, if you’re planning to head into the hills at some point, you’ll need to leave a message with Auntie at the shop about where you’re going and when you reckon to be back. Snow or not, the weather can still be treacherous at this time of year and getting