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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for me, after all?’ Rafaele Di Salis asked mockingly. ‘I am desolate.’
But he relaxed his clasp sufficiently for Emily to take an uneven step backwards, out of range. At the same time, he clicked the switch by the door and the overhead light went on, catching her in the act of scrubbing violently at her mouth with her hand in an attempt to remove any lingering traces of his kiss.
To cover her confusion, Emily went into attack mode. ‘What do you think you’re doing—creeping into the place like a burglar?’
His brows lifted sardonically. ‘Are you saying that you mistook me for a thief—and not Simon Aubrey?’
‘Simon,’ she said curtly, ‘need not concern you.’
‘Ah, but he does, Emilia. Because I fear that he will not be able to keep his appointment with you tonight, after all.’
She stiffened. ‘He told—you that?’
‘No.’ Rafaele Di Salis shrugged. ‘I told him so, when I encountered him in the garden a short while ago.’
She gasped. ‘You were spying on us?’
‘I had just returned from driving Signorina Aubrey home and heard him crashing through the shrubbery as I walked back to the house. He is fortunate there are no dogs on the premises, or he would have woken the whole household—including your father.’ He allowed a significant pause. ‘I persuaded him that his visit was—inappropriate and he left.’
She said chokingly, ‘And what gives you the right to interfere in my affairs?’
‘You mean there have been others?’ He tutted. ‘And I would have sworn that Simon Aubrey was the first.’ He glanced round. ‘And I must tell you, cara, that this is hardly the most comfortable setting for so momentous an event as losing your virginity.’
For a long moment Emily was incapable of speech, aware that every inch of her skin was burning with embarrassment.
At last she said hoarsely, ‘You are—disgusting.’
He laughed. ‘No, merely practical. Besides, your would-be lover seemed in no mood for a tender seduction when I met him just now. Frankly, he appeared ill-tempered. And, when I arrived at his uncle’s house earlier, it was clear there had been a family disagreement of some magnitude in which he was involved.’
‘That is none of your business!’
‘I agree,’ Rafaele told her cordially. ‘Which is why I made an excuse and left at once, without the coffee I had been promised.’
She glared at him. ‘Or anything else, presumably. Is that why you decided to ruin my time with Simon, signore—because you’d missed out with Jilly?’
He said gently, ‘That, mia cara, is a vulgarity not worthy of you.’ He paused. ‘I look on your father as my friend, Emilia, and I would try to prevent anything that would distress him. And the discovery that you had agreed to a secret liaison under his own roof would be a serious blow to him. You must know that. Your young man should have more regard for your honour.’
Emily flung back her head. ‘It so happens, signore, that Simon and I are engaged to be married. We were meeting tonight to—to discuss our plans for the future, and not for the sordid reason you imagine.’
His stride towards her was so quick and purposeful that she didn’t have a chance to step backwards. And, before she could defend herself, his hand had snaked out and pulled down the zip on her robe almost to the waist. The edges fell apart, revealing to his gaze the flimsy black triangles that barely concealed her nipples.
He said contemptuously, ‘It seems I am not the only one with a sordid imagination, signorina. Let me tell you that you are too young and far too lovely to require such tawdry adornment. You disappoint me.’
‘How dare you?’ Her voice was a strangled croak as she struggled to cover herself again, her fingers made clumsy by haste and shame. ‘Oh, God, how dare you—touch me? Insult me? You call yourself Daddy’s friend? He’ll throw you out of the house when I tell him…’
‘When you tell him—precisely what?’ Rafaele Di Salis cut impatiently across her stumbling words. ‘What you were doing here? Why you were dressed as you are?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Emilia, I recommend that you hold your peace about tonight, as I shall. Now, go to your room,’ he added almost wearily. ‘And I will lock up here.’
She did not wait to argue, but fled. In the quiet of her room, she threw herself across the bed, burying her face in the covers, as shock and misery overwhelmed her.
I want to die, she told herself passionately, a sob rising in her throat. Just to die. Because then I’ll never have to see Rafaele Di Salis again.
But, for the time being, she had to go on living—enduring the terrible memory of his condemnatory gaze and the harsh dismissal of his words.
And, somewhere among all of that, was the realisation that Simon had tamely given up and gone home, which, she discovered wretchedly, didn’t seem nearly as bad.
She spent a miserable and restless night, with the covers pulled over her head, and it was a pale, hollow-eyed Emily who went reluctantly down to breakfast the next morning to confront her tormentor the best she could. She’d rehearsed a number of dignified and cutting speeches in case he should make some ill-chosen reference to the night’s events, but they proved unnecessary.
Because he wasn’t there, and when she forced herself to ask her father about their guest’s non-appearance, she was breezily informed that Rafaele Di Salis had left first thing that morning to catch a flight to New York.
‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’ She managed to pour her coffee with a reasonably steady hand.
Sir Travers looked surprised. ‘No, my dear. Raf always planned to leave immediately after Boxing Day. Didn’t I mention that?’
‘Actually, no,’ said Emily.
‘Well, he’s gone, anyway.’ Her father paused, then smiled. ‘And he asked me to pass on his good wishes for your future happiness.’
‘How kind,’ Emily said woodenly, and applied herself to her scrambled eggs.
Strange, Emily thought, shifting uneasily in the big chair, that even after the passage of three years, she should have this—instant recall, as if it had all happened yesterday. But maybe unpleasant memories stayed longer in the mind than the cheerful variety.
Not that there’d ever been any really joyous moments to glean from any part of her strange relationship with Raf Di Salis.
The celebration would come when he signed the papers to set her free. And allow her, at last, to marry her first love and put all the pain of separation and misunderstanding behind them.
Her mouth tightened as she remembered how, in the aftermath of that disastrous night, she’d waited in mounting desperation to hear from Simon. But forty-eight endless hours had passed without a word and, as the time lengthened, her pride would not allow her to contact him and demand to know what the hell was going on.
She’d been in the village, parking her bicycle outside the general stores, when Jilly Aubrey had emerged.
‘Well, hi,’ she drawled, giving Emily the usual disparaging once-over. ‘Where’s that gorgeous Italian who was staying with you? I want to invite him to our New Year bash, if he’s going to be around.’
Emily gave her a cool look. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back for New Year, or any other time.’ If my prayers are answered…
Jilly shrugged. ‘Don’t sound so pleased, honey, because you’re in the same boat. Simon’s staying on in London, according to Mother.’
‘London,’ Emily repeated before she could stop herself.
‘You mean you don’t know?’ Jilly’s