His Reluctant Bride. Sara Craven
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in a low voice. ‘But I discovered that—he didn’t.’
‘Well, at least he’s trying to put things right now, no matter what your mother says.’ He gave an awkward chuckle. ‘Even asked my permission, which threw me.’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It won’t be easy, I know, but maybe you could try meeting him halfway?’
But he would have to want that too, she thought. And he doesn’t. Besides, how can I meet him anywhere when I don’t even know who he is? And never did …
She suppressed a sigh, and her little smile was wintry. ‘Perhaps that’s a bridge I have to cross.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Good luck with Cornwall. I’ll be in touch.’
She didn’t want to be late for lunch, so she reluctantly spent some of Sandro’s money on a taxi after all.
She hadn’t changed into anything more formal for their meeting, just added her favourite pair of earrings—the tiny enamelled cornflowers on delicate silver chains. But she began to wish she had dressed more smartly as she walked across the Grand Capital’s marble foyer, skirting the fountain and the groups of elegant women who’d gathered there to chat before lunch.
Sandro was already sitting at the bar when Polly entered. He was laughing at something the barman had said, and she hesitated, almost stunned, as the full force of his attraction hit her once more like a punch in the throat.
Nor was she the only one, she realised, recovering her breath. Women were sending him predatory looks from all over the room. No change there, then, she thought drily, remembering the same reaction every time she’d walked down a street with him in Sorrento.
And the scar on his cheek had not detracted from his appeal in any way. On the contrary, thought Polly, he looked like some Renaissance swordsman injured in a duel.
At that moment, he looked round and saw her. He slid off the stool, coming across to her, his mouth curling in faint cynicism as he registered her instant tension.
‘Cara,’ he said softly, and took her hand. ‘So you have decided to join me. I could not be sure. But I am delighted.’ He leaned towards her, his gaze travelling to her mouth, and Polly flinched, freeing her fingers from his grasp.
‘Still no kiss?’ His tone was mocking. ‘Even though I have learned my lesson from this morning, and shaved more closely in anticipation?’
‘I don’t consider that any particular inducement,’ Polly responded stonily. ‘I’ve agreed to marry you, and I see no need for any—embellishments.’
‘Now, there we disagree. I see I shall have to teach you the difference between public and private behaviour, my reluctant bride.’ He smiled as he spoke, and only Polly was aware of the ice in his voice. ‘But we will discuss that later.’
He took her to a corner table, and signalled to a hovering waiter. ‘What would you like to drink. Is it still Campari and soda?’
More unwanted memories, she thought, biting her lip. She said coolly, ‘Just a mineral water, please.’
‘Last night you drank white wine.’
‘Today I need to keep a clear head.’
He gave her a thoughtful look, then turned to the waiter. ‘Mineral water, per favore,’ he directed. ‘For both of us.’
The waiter departed, leaving a silence behind him that Sandro was the first to break.
‘Have you had a productive morning?’ he asked.
‘I suppose so.’ Polly gave a slight shrug. ‘I resigned from my job, and visited my parents, who are planning a holiday in Cornwall.’
‘I have not been idle either,’ he said. ‘The legal requirements for our marriage are being fast-tracked, so I have decided it would be best if you moved here to my suite until the wedding.’
‘I—move in with you?’ she repeated blankly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Finding a flat to rent for such a short time could be a problem,’ he explained. His mouth curled slightly. ‘But do not be too disturbed, cara. The suite has two large bedrooms.’
She said in a hollow voice, ‘There are three of us. Four with Julie.’
‘The bambinaia will work only in the daytime. At night, we will care for Carlino ourselves. You have been doing that since he was born,’ he added. ‘So it is scarcely a hardship. He can decide whose room he shares each evening.’ He gave her a cool smile. ‘An excellent arrangement, don’t you think?’
Her voice shook. ‘You don’t want to know what I think.’
‘Probably not,’ he agreed drily. ‘But you will not be forced to endure my company for too long. We shall leave for Italy and Comadora immediately after our wedding, and, once there, I will do my best to keep out of your way. In view of my work commitments, it should not be too difficult.’
Polly gave him a pleading look. ‘Can’t we do a deal over this? As it’s only for a short time, couldn’t Charlie and I stay at the flat?’
‘Unfortunately that is impossible.’ His hand closed over hers, his thumb stroking her soft palm, sending tiny tremors through her senses which she was unable to ignore or control. ‘You see, carissima, I need you near to me,’ he whispered huskily. ‘Especially at night. Just in case you decided to try and escape me after all.’
At that moment, the waiter arrived back with their drinks, and a colleague came hurrying with menus and a wine list.
Polly withdrew her hand from his clasp, not trusting herself to speak, longing for a sliver of ice long and sharp enough to pierce her tormentor to the heart.
She took refuge behind her menu while she regained her equilibrium.
Last night had been bad enough, she thought broodingly. She’d never envisaged having to move in with him, but she realised now that she’d been naïve. There were probably plenty of other options, but his will was paramount, and he was letting her know it.
Yet he’d been so different once; gentle, humorous, patient—and adoring, or so she’d believed.
Now, she thought, wretchedness gnawing at her, it seemed that treacherous, deceitful and arrogant were more accurate descriptions.
He’d simply played the part of the sincere lover, as a ploy to keep her in his bed, trusting and eager, all summer long.
Yet, while she knew this, how was it possible that his lightest touch still had the power to stir her to the depths of her being, reigniting needs and longing that should be dead?
It was madness, and she needed to become sane again, or her existence, even on the outskirts of his life, would become intolerable.
She’d never felt less hungry in her life, but she knew she should eat something, so decided on consommé and chicken in wine sauce to follow. Fuel, she thought, for the next battle.
‘So,’ Sandro said when they were alone again, ‘you will stay here with me, and no more arguments?’
She nodded abruptly, and he smiled at her. ‘I am charmed by your obedience,’ he told her, and raised his glass. ‘Shall we drink to marital harmony?’
‘No,’ Polly said grittily, ‘thank you. Not even in water.’
‘Che peccato,’ he said lightly. ‘What a shame. Then, instead, let us drink to your earrings.’ He put a hand out as if to touch one of the little cornflowers, and Polly shrank back.
He stared at her, his brows snapping together. When he spoke, his voice crackled with anger. ‘Tell me, Paola, do you intend to cringe each time I come near you?’
‘Isn’t that the whole point?’ she demanded huskily. ‘I don’t want you near me. You’ve promised to keep your distance, but can I believe you?’