‘I rarely eat dolces,’ he assured her, ‘and tonight I have devoured so much of your chicken dish I can eat nothing more.’
Rose braced herself. Confession time loomed. ‘In that case I’ll just make some coffee to take into the sitting room.’
‘While you do that I shall visit your bathroom,’ he said matter-of-factly.
She blew out the candles and gathered up the used dishes in a tearing hurry. By the time Dante returned, she had the coffee tray ready and the dishwasher stacked, and could find nothing more to do to delay the inevitable. ‘If you’ll just take the tray, then.’
Dante eyed her closely as he complied. ‘Something is wrong, Rose? Do not worry about little Bea. I took a look through her open door and she is sleeping peacefully.’
‘Good.’ Regretting the second glass of wine she’d downed for Dutch courage, Rose followed Dante into the sitting room and asked him to set the tray down on the table in front of the sofa.
When they were settled side by side with their coffee Dante eyed her expectantly. ‘After such an excellent dinner we should be sitting here relaxed. But you are very tense, Rose. Will you tell me why?’
‘Yes,’ she said, resigned. ‘I will. But I don’t know where to start—’
Dante smiled. ‘At the beginning is usually the best place, tesoro.’
She tensed at the endearment then took in a deep breath. ‘Dante, if you’ll think back to Charlotte’s wedding, you made it plain from the start that you were attracted to me. I was thrilled and excited, and so instantly attracted to you I drank so much more champagne than I should have. I was tearful after Charlotte left with Fabio. You comforted me when you took me to my room and you know what happened next.’
Dante brought her hand to his lips. ‘The entire day with you had been like the preliminari for me. Foreplay, yes? Allora, the moment I kissed you I was lost. I have no excuse for what followed. I was no schoolboy to lose control in such a way. But as the climax to that happy day, the joy I felt in your arms, Rose, was sweeter than anything I had experienced before. It was torture to tear myself away from you, even though I was in desperate worry over Nonna.’ He sighed heavily. ‘All that day I had banished Elsa from my mind, but later, on the flight home, I felt great guilt because I had not told you about her. When did you learn that I had a fidanzata?’
‘The next morning, over breakfast. Your friends were worried that your grandmother’s illness would affect your wedding.’ Rose looked him in the eye. ‘The word wedding hit me so hard I was numb for a while. Then my temper kicked in. I wanted to punch that face of yours until you weren’t so handsome any more. Denied the satisfaction of that, I blocked you from my mind instead, deleted you from my life and refused to listen whenever Charlotte mentioned your name. So she soon gave up trying.’
‘And you never knew that Elsa left me,’ he said very quietly and took her cup to put it on the tray with his.
‘No.’
He frowned. ‘Yet Charlotte was most insistent I delivered her letter to you in person in Firenze.’
Rose nodded. ‘Fabio sent money for me in the package so she needed someone to deliver it, and you just happened to be on the spot.’
Dante smiled wryly. ‘I was most happy to do it, but thought you would refuse to speak to me.’
‘I wanted to!’
‘Yet you agreed to dine with me.’
She shrugged. ‘The thought of eating alone in that rather grand hotel was so daunting I decided to make use of you instead. But why did you offer, Dante?’
‘You looked so unhappy when you read Charlotte’s letter I longed to take you in my arms and comfort you. Instead, I offered to take her place.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘You have more to tell me, I think?’
‘I do.’ Rose sat very erect. ‘That was the prologue. Now we get to the main part. I’ve decided to take your advice, Dante.’
He frowned. ‘What advice, cara?’
‘To tell Bea’s father he has a daughter.’
His eyes blazed in sudden, vehement denial. ‘No! I no longer think this a good idea. Do not, Rose. He is probably married by now. You are right; after all this time he will not believe the child is his.’
Rose looked long and hard into the impassioned blue eyes. ‘Is that how you would react in such circumstances, Dante?’
‘I believe not. I hope I would not. How could any man be sure of his reaction to such news?’
‘Now’s your chance to find out.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘Bea is your child, Dante.’
He sat like a man turned to stone for several endless seconds, his eyes wild on hers.
‘Cosa? What are you saying?’ His bronze skin drained of all colour. ‘It is not a thing to joke about.’
‘It’s no joke, I assure you. I’m deadly serious.’
‘Dio!’ Dante thrust a hand through his hair as he eyed her incredulously. ‘But, even so desperate to make love to you, I used protection that night.’
She flushed. ‘It didn’t work. After you’d gone I found it had split.’
‘Then what you say is really true?’
‘You honestly think it’s something I would lie about?’
He shook his head in wonder. ‘Beatrice is the result of our lovemaking that night.’
Rose sighed heavily. ‘I don’t blame you for doubting it. I couldn’t believe it myself.’
‘Why did you never tell me this before?’ he demanded with sudden heat.
‘How could I, Dante?’ she snapped. ‘You were already married by the time I found out. Which is why I was so obstinate about refusing to name the father. But, after seeing you and Bea together for the first time, my mother was sure it was you and said you had a right to know.’ Rose slumped back against the sofa cushions. ‘So now you do. But don’t worry; I’m not asking anything of you.’
He glared at her, incensed. ‘You tell me I have a daughter and think I will walk away?’
Rose hugged her arms across her chest, refusing to look at him. ‘I don’t expect anything from you, Dante. Bea and I have managed perfectly well up to now without you. So by all means walk away if you want. I have no proof that she’s your child. If this were a Gothic novel she’d have a birthmark or something to show she was yours, but—’
‘I need no proof,’ he said roughly and got up to pace the room. ‘If you say she is mine I will believe you.’
‘Will believe or do believe?’ demanded Rose.
Dante turned on her angrily. ‘Do not mock my command of English, per favore.’
Rose sat very still, gazing at him in such misery Dante sat beside her again and took her hand.
‘Why do you look at me so?’
‘It was very hard to tell you, Dante.’
‘Perche?’
‘I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me. And it’s over four years since that night so you might have forgotten all about it. And even if you did remember you could have thought I was telling you about Bea to get money.’
Dante clenched a fist, as though hanging on to every shred of his self-control. At last he turned to look Rose in the eye. ‘I had forgotten nothing. When I saw you again in Firenze I was transported back to the Vilari wedding and my meeting with the entrancing girl who stole my heart.’
‘The heart which already belonged to someone else,’ Rose said bitterly.
He shook his head. ‘Elsa never had my heart. She had no use for it. She wanted my name and my money. But there was less money than she expected. Financially, I was a great disappointment to her.’
‘Did you love her?’
‘I desired her when we first met. And she desired marriage to a Fortinari.’ Dante’s mouth twisted. ‘Alla fine—in the end—I was deeply grateful to Enrico Calvi for taking her from me.’ He took Rose’s hand in his. ‘Now, let us talk of
important things. How soon can we get married?’
CHAPTER SIX
‘HOLD ON!’ SHE shook her head decisively. ‘That’s not going to happen, Dante.’
‘Cosa?’ He pulled her to her feet and stood staring down at her. ‘We made a child together—’
‘But by accident, not because we were in a relationship.’ Rose held her ground. ‘I didn’t tell you about Bea to force you to marry me, Dante. I don’t want—or need—a husband.’
‘But this is not all about you, Rose,’ he flung at her. ‘My daughter needs a father. Soon she will be old enough to ask why she lacks one, no? Other children will ask also. You have not considered this?’
‘Are you serious? Of course I have!’ She sighed wearily. ‘I had no way of providing one for her, or even to meet a likely candidate because I had to work from home so I could always be there for her. Besides, I like being in charge of my own life—and of hers. If I married you, Dante, I suppose you would expect me to uproot us to live with you in Italy?’
‘Naturalmente. I have a home ready for you, also a family who would welcome you,’ he said swiftly.
Rose shook her head firmly. ‘It’s not the basis for a marriage, Dante.’
‘You would find it so hard to be my wife?’ he demanded, eyes glittering.
In some ways not hard at all, but that wasn’t the point. She should, she knew, be grateful that he’d taken the news of his fatherhood so well, with none of the doubts she’d expected. ‘I think it’s a mistake to rush into anything, Dante,’ she said at last. ‘You need time to get used to the idea.’
Dante stood with long legs apart and arms folded as he stared down at her. ‘If you do not marry me I will demand to spend time with my daughter,’ he said harshly.
‘Of course,’ she said, secretly dismayed. ‘But before we descend to bickering about it perhaps you’ll listen to what I have to say?’
‘Allora, talk, Rose.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so abrupt with my objection.’ She gazed at him in appeal. ‘But you must see that we are, in effect, strangers, Dante. Before we rush into something as binding as marriage, it would be sensible to get to know each other better.’
His eyes softened slightly. ‘Is that how you feel, Rose? That I am a stranger?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘After what happened here between us the last time, how can you say that?’
She felt her face flame. ‘It’s obvious that we—we’re compatible in that way.’
‘Compatible!’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘If you mean I want to crush you in my arms and kiss you until you are helpless to refuse me, you are right. Do not look like that,’ he added. ‘I will not resort to—to physical coercion, this is right? Instead, I give you no choice. You will marry me and make your home in Italy with me and with our daughter.’
‘Oh, will I?’ Rose cried. ‘Just because you’ve suddenly discovered you’re Bea’s father doesn’t give you the right to turn our lives upside down.’
‘You are wrong. It does,’ he retorted, a look in his eyes that sent her backing away. ‘My child must grow up knowing she has a father who loves and cares for her. If you do not agree to marriage you must share Bea with me. She will like my house, and she will have cousins to play with her, also doting grandparents and uncles and aunts.’ He shook his head in sudden wonder. ‘I was resigned to the role of uncle. To discover now that I am a father, I feel great joy.’ He glared at her. ‘Also great frustration because the mother of my child will not marry me.’
Rose thrust a hand through her hair, her eyes troubled. ‘Before I took a giant step like that I’d have to be sure that it would make Bea happy.’
Dante held her gaze in silence for a time and then took her hands in his. ‘Allora, this is what we do, Rose. I will go back to Fortino to talk to my brother, also to my parents. Then I will return here to stay at the Hermitage for a while to spend time with Bea. Later, you must bring her to stay at the Villa Castiglione for a holiday to meet my family.’ Dante’s eyes held hers. ‘You agree with this?’
She thought it over then nodded reluctantly.
‘Va bene. But first she must be told I am her father.’ He closed his eyes suddenly. ‘Dio, I still cannot believe it.’
‘If you have any doubts on the subject say so now and we forget the whole thing,’ said Rose and backed away as his eyes flew open to blaze into hers.
‘I meant,’ he said very deliberately, as though he was translating as he advanced on her, ‘that I cannot believe my good fortune in possessing this child we created together.’
‘By accident!’ She stood her ground and met his eyes squarely. ‘If we did marry would you expect more children?’
‘I would hope for them, yes. So if you have some strange idea of a matrimonio di convenienza, put it from your mind. You would share my life. And my bed.’ Dante drew her into his arms. ‘Would that be so hard to do?’
‘No,’ she admitted, colouring. ‘As you well know, Dante.’
He smiled victoriously and brushed his lips in a feather-light kiss over hers, then stiffened at the sound of an anguished cry upstairs.
Rose bolted away from him to take the stairs at a run, Dante hot on her heels as they raced into Bea’s room to find her sitting on the floor beside her bed, crying piteously as she reached out her arms to her mother.
Rose scooped her up and ran with her to the bathroom, where Bea threw up copiously. ‘On the bed too,’ she sobbed, and Rose held her close, murmuring wordless comfort as she glanced round to see what Dante was doing, her eyes scornful when she saw he’d vanished. Fair weather daddy!
But Dante reappeared in the doorway with an armful of bed linen. ‘I took these from the bed and shall put them downstairs. Tell me where to find clean sheets, Rose.’
‘Airing cupboard on the landing,’ she said, startled. ‘Bea’s things are on the upper shelves.’
Dante eyed the bowed curly head with sympathy. ‘Poverina! Are you better now?’
Bea shook her head mournfully. ‘My tummy hurts.’
‘You will soon be better in a warm, clean bed,’ he assured her.
By the time Bea was bathed, sans ducks this time, and fragrant in clean pyjamas, Dante had made her bed, complete with Pinocchio and Bear.
‘A man of many talents,’ murmured Rose as she tucked her daughter in.
‘Dante, read to me,’ commanded Bea, and smiled at him. ‘Please?’
Rose blinked hard at the look on his face, and turned away to sort through some books. ‘How about Pinocchio?’ she suggested, clearing her throat. ‘He’s Italian, too.’
‘A good choice,’ said Dante huskily as his daughter nodded in approval. ‘Where shall I sit?’
‘On the bed,’ said Bea, and wriggled back against her pillows.
‘I’ll pop downstairs and get a drink,’ said Rose, and escaped before she did something really stupid like bursting into tears at the sight of Bea with the father she didn’t know she possessed.
Rose loaded the washing machine with Bea’s sheets and pyjamas and stripped off her sweater, which had suffered in the interlude in the bathroom. She pulled on a T-shirt from the basket of laundry waiting to be ironed and went up to Bea’s bedroom, but paused in the doorway, her throat tightening as she heard Dante’s voice growing gradually softer as he read his daughter back to sleep. Rose stood very still as he finally closed the book and leaned down to brush a kiss over the bright curls. He turned and held a finger to his lips as he followed her downstairs.
Rose felt suddenly awkward, unsure what to do or say next. ‘Would you like some coffee, Dante, or maybe a drink?’
‘Coffee, per favore, to wake myself up to drive. I almost sent myself to sleep with Bea,’ he added wryly. ‘I will come into the kitchen while you make it, Rose, then I must leave.’
‘Thank you
for your help,’ she said as she filled the kettle. ‘I was impressed.’
‘I have helped in such ways before,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Perhaps the little one’s nonna allowed too rich a dolce after supper.’
‘Actually, Mum’s pretty strict. But Tom isn’t, so maybe Bea conned him into giving her an extra sweetie or two.’ Rose smiled. ‘He’s putty in her hands.’
‘Putty? Ah, yes, stucco. I sympathise. It must be hard to refuse her anything she desires.’ Dante chuckled. ‘He will find it even harder with Charlotte’s child.’
When they sat facing each other across the kitchen table with mugs of coffee steaming between them, Rose smiled wryly. ‘I thought Italian men were spoiled by mammas who did everything for them, yet you were very efficient tonight. Thank you.’
Dante shrugged. ‘At home, when young, in Fortino, where my mother was very much in charge, I did little, I confess. Now I do many things for myself. After Elsa left me my family bombarded me with dinner invitations.’ He smiled derisively. ‘I wished only to be left alone but this was never allowed.’
‘Your family obviously love you very much—’
‘They will love you and little Bea also,’ he said emphatically and reached a hand across to grasp hers, but released it and got up when Rose stiffened. ‘I will go now and let you sleep.’
Rose walked to the door with Dante, her mind in turmoil. Half of her wanted nothing more than to creep into bed and pull the covers over her head. The other half, the part of her savouring the warmth and scent of Dante as they stood together, wanted to pull him into bed with her and blot out the world.
‘Tell me the truth, Dante—how do you feel?’ she asked. ‘Now I’ve told you about Bea, I mean.’
‘Amazed, but happy,’ he said simply, and took her in his arms. ‘I will be even happier when you are my wife, Rose. It is useless to fight. It is your fate. We were meant to be together.’ He kissed the mouth which opened to protest and let her go. ‘Arrivederci, tesoro.’
Rose watched him stride down the path to the car, then closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, feeling limp. She pushed away from the door in sudden irritation—time to stop behaving like a character in a romantic movie and do her nightly chores. She had work to do tomorrow. As usual. But maybe a day off would be good for once. She was well in hand with the accounts she did at home and had no visits to make next day. Her mother would be desperate to hear how things had gone tonight, so after she took Bea to school in the morning—so long as she wasn’t unwell again—Rose decided she would give Grace a full report over coffee.
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