The Italian Count's Command

by Sara Wood

  Let him stew, she thought. She’d nail him, one way or the other. She had to.

  Together they walked with their arms around one another, hips touching, into the house. Although she assumed this was for the benefit of anyone watching, it did feel reassuring.

  His strength seemed to seep into her. If he stood by her, she could conquer all the horrors that beset her every night.

  ‘We’ll go in the library,’ he said curtly, pushing open the door then locking it behind them.

  In his currently detached mood she expected him to sit some distance from her, but instead he drew her down to the sofa. Enclosed by the crook of his arm, she sat rigidly, waiting for him to start. But he just stared into space, scowling, until she was prompted to urge him on.

  ‘Dante. Please. We can’t avoid this.’

  ‘I know. I’ve tried, God knows, I’ve tried,’ he said with a heavy sigh. ‘It was the only way I could cope with how I felt about you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  He reached out to fiddle with an antique letter opener on the table in front of them, clearly reluctant to delve into the past. Finally he cleared his throat and she pulled in a sharp breath of relief as he began to speak.

  ‘I’d been in Milan settling my late uncle’s affairs, you remember,’ he said in a low tone and she nodded. His scowl deepened, his voice grew harsher. ‘I’d caught an earlier flight back than planned because I wanted to get home to see you.’

  ‘That’s nice!’ she blurted out, before she could stop herself. But she was so desperate for some sign that he really cared…

  ‘No. It’s not.’ Granite-faced, he shifted uncomfortably, a faint flush on his carved cheekbones. ‘There’d been these rumours that you’d been neglecting Carlo while you played around with a lover—’

  ‘You thought you’d catch me out,’ she said bitterly, sinking back in deep dismay.

  His mouth thinned. There was a long pause. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I had to settle my mind, to know the truth. It was crucifying me. As I was on my way home, Guido called me on my mobile—’

  ‘Guido?’ Suddenly she was rigid with tension, hanging on his next words.

  ‘Yes. He said…he said I had to get back from Italy as quickly as I could—not knowing I was already in the country. He then told me that he’d called round to see you and had found you drunk on the bed—’

  ‘Wait a minute!’ she cried. Her mind whirled. ‘Guido got into our apartment? How?’

  ‘I’d given him an emergency key in case we were away and the burglar alarm went off. You need key-holders,’ Dante said irritably. ‘He said he’d had a hunch you were entertaining men while I was away and wanted to confront you.’

  Rage bubbled up inside her. It was a good lie. ‘Go on,’ she said coldly.

  ‘Unknown to him, I was only minutes away when he called,’ he said in a tightly controlled voice. But she could sense his anger mounting as he relived the events of that day. ‘The scene was as I have described to you before. Don’t ask me to tell you again. It’s branded on my brain!’ he bit out with harsh resentment.

  ‘You never mentioned that Guido was there when you arrived.’

  ‘Just as well that he was. You weren’t in a fit state to answer the door,’ he slammed back.

  She flinched. ‘Describe him,’ she demanded. ‘How was he?’

  ‘What on earth for? What difference—?’

  She turned on him passionately. ‘Never mind! It does make a difference! I want to know!’ she cried tautly.

  He gave an impatient shrug, evidently trying to remember. ‘I suppose he looked shocked at what he’d discovered.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ she shot.

  ‘Because he looked unusually dishevelled and rather alarmed.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘He was breathing hard, I remember. And he was lost for words to begin with and stammered—presumably because he was so embarrassed. I remember that he kept smoothing down his hair and pouring himself tots of whisky to steady his nerves.’

  Because, she thought, cold with fury, Dante had arrived sooner than Guido had expected. Maybe…

  Her heart bounded with hope. Guido had believed that Dante would arrive in England some hours later. She was sure Guido must have put something in her drink to make her pass out. Could the planned rape have been interrupted by Dante’s early arrival? Was that why Guido had been so agitated? He could have heard Dante entering the apartment and gone into a flat spin, trying to get dressed before Dante reached the bedroom.

  Perhaps she hadn’t been violated. Her hand rested on her stomach. There might not be a pregnancy after all. She hoped so, with all her heart. If she had another baby, she wanted it to be born from love and to carry it with a heart full of dreams for the future.

  ‘What exactly did he say?’ she asked, her nerves on wires.

  Every cell in her brain was working overtime. Had it been a put-up job? To ruin her marriage and hurt Dante as a nasty kind of revenge? Her fists clenched as she contemplated a thousand things she’d do to Guido if he was guilty of such malice.

  ‘He became touchingly protective of me,’ Dante muttered, absently making little stabbing movements with the paper knife. ‘He was very sympathetic. Urged me to save the family honour and leave at once with Carlo.’ He thrust a distracted hand through his hair and dropped the knife, flinging himself back against the cushions as if collapsing beneath an impossible burden. ‘I felt as if I’d been hit by a train and all my brains had been knocked out. I didn’t know what to do. He advised me, stayed objective. I’ll never forget what he did for me that night in organising the flight, helping to pack Carlo’s toys, leaving an explanatory e-mail for you—’

  ‘He wrote the e-mail?’ she pounced.

  ‘I could hardly think straight,’ Dante said irritably. ‘I told him what to put—’

  ‘That…’ Her voice broke. ‘That I could earn my living by whoring?’

  On tenterhooks, she waited for his answer. And when he jerked his head and she saw his shocked expression, her face cleared.

  ‘I wouldn’t ask him to say that!’ Dante said indignantly. ‘Not in a million years.’

  ‘I have the e-mail,’ she told him, her voice shaking. Now she had some proof of Guido’s hatred. ‘I kept it in case I had to plead my case in court. I can show it to you.’

  He winced then looked down at his hands, clenched into tight fists on his knees. ‘I’m sorry. Guido’s doing. No doubt he was appalled by your behaviour. I just went around in a daze, filling up with caffeine while you lay on our bed…’ His choked voice faded away. ‘Miranda, I’ve had enough. I don’t want to go on with this.’

  He looked haunted. She felt close to tears. ‘Oh, Dante! It must have been a terrible moment for you. I’m sorry to have put you through it all over again but it has helped to clarify things for me. Thank you,’ she croaked.

  Her hands covered her face. Guido had sent that e-mail. Not Dante. Guido had ensured that Dante had left before she had come round sufficiently to protest her innocence. He was evil personified.

  ‘Dear heaven!’ she whispered, longing to confide the truth.

  Through her fingers, she looked helplessly at Dante, almost wishing he would guess. He frowned, hesitated, and then reached out for her. With a sob, she nestled up to his chest. He began to stroke her hair.

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ he advised gruffly.

  ‘But I want you to realise that someone got me drunk, perhaps spiked a soft drink with alcohol,’ she said, revealing as much as she dared. ‘Or they fed me a drug.’

  Her hand lifted to lie against Dante’s cheek and she firmly turned his granite-hard face till he was forced to look at her.

  ‘Miranda—’ he growled.

  ‘No. Please hear me out,’ she begged. ‘You believe that the rumours you heard about my neglect of Carlo were untrue, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. Except for—’

  ‘That one time. But we’ve agreed something peculia
r happened that evening, perhaps something beyond my control—’

  ‘I don’t understand what—’

  ‘Dante.’ She fixed him with her steady gaze. Believe me! it said. Trust me! If I was maligned unfairly over that, maybe I’m also innocent of taking a lover. And those rumours about my infidelity—whoever spread them—are lies as well.’ She could see him chewing this over. Make the link! she urged silently. See what a liar your brother is! ‘All I can say is that I have never been unfaithful to you, in word, thought or deed. Whatever happened that night was not of my making.’

  ‘But something happened to you! We can’t pretend it didn’t! I saw the aftermath!’ Dante stood up, his expression wretched. ‘Che Dio mi aiuti! Excuse me,’ he rasped hoarsely. ‘I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to remember. I think I need to be on my own for a while. We can’t keep going over and over this. It’s destroying me. I think of your body and another man…’ He made an angry gesture. ‘You don’t know what that does to me. I’m going out—’

  ‘Where?’ she cried, anxious for him.

  ‘I don’t know! Anywhere! Give my apologies to Guido.’

  He was out of the room before she could rouse herself to make a protest. Miranda felt her whole body slump in despair. Dante might be prepared to believe that she hadn’t deliberately invited a man into the apartment, but he thought she had been ravished, nevertheless. And he couldn’t handle that.

  He would be hurt beyond belief if he knew what his brother had been up to. But she couldn’t bear to take no action at all.

  Seething at Guido’s treachery, she leapt up and prowled up and down the room, her sense of injustice getting her more and more agitated. Anger and frustration brought her to an abrupt halt. She wasn’t afraid of Guido any more. He was a piece of low life, not worthy of her fear.

  Chin jutting with determination, she stormed up to her room to change into something less revealing. It was time for a showdown.

  In a cool white shirt and linen palazzo pants, she strode grimly to the pool, where Guido was sunning himself.

  She glared down at the oil-slicked body, anger mastering the lurching disgust that this…thing had ever touched her.

  Deliberately she picked up the jug of iced lemon and poured it all over him.

  ‘Dio! Che—?’

  She ignored his spluttering and grabbed his sticky hair, jerking up his head ruthlessly.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she spat, her eyes ablaze with loathing. ‘I know what you’ve done and what you’re up to! I’m telling you now that if you jeopardise my marriage or my access to Carlo, I’ll keep on your tail until all your lies and vile plots are revealed! Don’t mistake me, Guido! You may think I’m calm and controlled, but where the people I love are concerned, I’m a raging tigress! And I’ll have no compunction in ripping you to shreds if you come between Dante, Carlo and me!’

  Released with a sudden contemptuous jerk of her hand, he stared up at her. And she knew she had a terrible enemy.

  ‘So it’s war, is it?’ he said nastily. ‘I wonder who will win? I can bring you down just like that.’ He snapped his fingers.

  ‘Rubbish,’ she said with cold hauteur.

  And before he noticed that she was shaking like a leaf, she walked swiftly away.

  Open hostilities had been declared. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had better watch her back. And get to Como town for that test as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TO HER dismay, Dante decided to accompany her on the long drive to Como.

  ‘But surely you don’t want to come shopping with me!’ she protested over breakfast.

  He didn’t look at her but concentrated on buttering his croissant.

  ‘I want to introduce you to my staff in my silk mills there,’ he said with a firmness that didn’t brook argument. ‘They’ve been asking to meet you. I think it would be rude not to call in.’

  He was frowning. His white teeth took a bite from the pastry and he busied himself with catching stray flakes with his forefinger, which he then licked clean before wiping it on a napkin and helping Carlo to scoop up the last of his strawberries.

  She watched Dante sadly. They had made love the previous night. But it had been different. Less tender, more…desperate.

  She felt as if she was on a tightrope and might fall off any minute. Guido might persuade Dante that she wasn’t worth persevering with.

  ‘I would like to meet everyone very much,’ she said, evenly, hoping to find a moment to herself when she could slip into a pharmacy.

  The more people she met, she reckoned, the more likely it was that Dante would realise that other people could see she was a straightforward kind of person who wouldn’t lie easily.

  She leaned forward and lightly touched his hand. He jumped and hastily reclaimed it. Hurt by his rejection, she gritted her teeth and tried not to panic.

  ‘I want to meet all your friends. And I want you to meet mine again. You liked them, didn’t you? Some have known me ever since we were at school together.’

  For a moment his glance flicked up. ‘They’re very fond of you, I remember,’ he conceded curtly.

  And just as she was going to point out that there might be a reason her friends had been loyal to her for so long, Carlo claimed their time.

  Not long after that they set off for Como. She deliberately kept her conversation light and minimal on the drive down the eastern side of the lake.

  Dante seemed disinclined to do much more than offer monosyllabic answers to her questions about the places they passed, though he pulled out all the stops when they reached the silk mill.

  Before she had time to dwell on the fear that he might be back to keeping up appearances, she was enfolded in a warm welcome by his staff and whisked off on a tour which was conducted with such pride and evident affection that she was caught up in everyone’s enthusiasm.

  ‘And,’ the sales manager told her with excited gestures as he turned the pages of sample books showing international models in Severini silk creations, ‘as I’m sure you know, we sell our silk to the fashion houses of Europe. See. Here…’

  ‘Wonderful!’ she exclaimed in admiration. ‘It’s an impressive record. Signor Gordati,’ she said hesitantly, aware that Dante was on the telephone in another office, ‘you haven’t found it hard, changing from having Il Conte Amadeo Severini as your boss, and adapting to the ways of my husband?’

  She felt bad, asking. Yet she needed confirmation that Dante was essentially good-hearted. Guido’s lies had left a legacy of doubts.

  The sales manager beamed at her. ‘Hard?’ he exclaimed. ‘We are delighted. Amadeo was remarkable. A father to us all. And we are fortunate indeed that your husband we have known for many years and he is loved as our brother.’

  She smiled, happy to know that. ‘And Guido?’ she asked gently.

  Signor Gordati’s brows drew together in a ferocious frown. ‘Perhaps, Contessa,’ he said with dignity, ‘we should be thinking of lunch?’

  That was a deliberate evasion. She nodded slowly, reading the man’s anxious eyes.

  ‘You are loyal and tactful,’ she murmured.

  He kissed her hand. ‘And I am honoured to meet you, Contessa.’

  She looked up as Dante appeared in the doorway, his eyes thoughtful as he studied her and his manager.

  ‘They were impressed with you,’ Dante said abruptly when they were walking from a car park to the cathedral square. ‘You asked interesting questions. Thank you.’

  ‘I was interested. It’s a fascinating business.’

  Unbend, she pleaded silently. But he remained formal and polite all through lunch. And he insisted on taking her around the boutiques afterwards, helping her to choose party clothes. As a result, she had no opportunity to slip away.

  It was late when they drove back along the western arm of the lake. The views were wonderful, the villages elegant and colourful with flowers, but all she felt was frustration.

  Even the e
vening light on the mountains failed to enchant her. The mountains glowed pinkly above a grey silk lake. Slowly the sky darkened, the line of the jagged peaks becoming hard and forbidding against the paler night sky.

  It echoed Dante’s behaviour. He had changed. Part of her wished they hadn’t talked through the events of that fateful night when he’d walked out on her. Ever since, he had been horribly uncommunicative and distant. Even to the extent of avoiding her.

  As the days went by, he became more and more withdrawn. Except in bed. They still slept together, and made love, though even that was fierce and frantic with none of the deep affection that had sent her into ecstasies.

  In the mornings he seemed consumed by anger. He wouldn’t look at her, nor did he attempt to comfort her whenever she woke from the nightmare. And she didn’t know what to do, other than to wait it out and keep her own feelings under wraps.

  If he was going to reject her then she knew she had to start shutting down her emotions. She didn’t want to. But she didn’t want to be hurt, either. She had to survive.

  If they were to live like this, using one another for sex and pretending to be happily married, then she had to take steps to protect herself.

  ‘Dante not around?’

  It was late evening and Carlo was still up. In the middle of reading a story to him, she glanced up briefly at Guido, who’d come into the drawing room, and replied with a curt, ‘Working.’

  He laughed as if he harboured a secret. Sickened, she watched the hated face come close to hers. His finger reached out to tickle Carlo, who squealed and clung to her tightly.

  To her horror she saw Guido’s finger slide boldly into her deep cleavage with the clear intent of curving beneath her breast. She gagged, and it was a moment before she could clamp her hand on his wrist and pull away.

  And by then he was looking towards the door—where Dante stood as if turned to stone. Miranda went scarlet at the ferocity of her husband’s inky black glare. He spun abruptly on his heel and left without a word.

  If she hadn’t been cuddling her son, she would have slapped Guido’s triumphant face. But she could do nothing.