by Sara Craven
Flora lay very still, her cheek pressed against damp freezing turf, all her senses at fever pitch as she tried to assess what damage might have been done.
Kick me, she pleaded silently to the baby. Kick me hard. But nothing happened.
When, eventually, she tried to move, she felt her ankle screaming at her to stop, and lay back again. She knew she needed to stay calm, but as the minutes passed she began to feel chilled and also extremely scared.
The driver of the car must have seen her fall, she thought in shocked bewilderment, but had made no attempt to stop even though it must have been obvious that she was heavily pregnant.
How long would it be before she was missed at the castello? And, when she was, how would they know which direction she had taken?
She swallowed convulsively. ‘Oh, Mutt,’ she whispered. ‘I think I could be in real trouble.’
As if in confirmation, Mutt flattened his ears, threw back his head, and began to howl.
Time became a blur of cold, and thin rain, and Mutt’s distress. She tried several times to get up, but the pain in her ankle invariably sent her wincing back to the ground. She was sure it wasn’t broken, but it could be badly sprained, which was just as inconvenient.
She became aware that she was drifting in and out of consciousness, and knew that this was the biggest danger. Mutt was quiet too, as if he’d decided his efforts were in vain, and she loosened his lead and whispered, ‘Home, boy,’ praying that the sight of him would speed up the search.
Unless, of course, he got sidetracked by a stray cat, or some other legitimate prey, she thought as she heard him in the distance, bursting into a frenzy of excited barking.
But that wasn’t the only noise. There were voices, she realised, and bobbing lights.
Or was she just delirious with the cold and imagining it all?
Because it seemed as if Marco was beside her, his voice saying brokenly, ‘Flora—mia carissima. Ah, Dio, my angel, my sweet love. What has happened to you?’
She knew that was impossible, because Marco was miles away in Milan, and anyway he didn’t care about her enough to say things like that.
Only his arms were strong around her, and she was breathing the familiar scent of his skin, listening to him murmuring the endearments in his own language that he had once whispered to her when they were making love. And somehow this surpassed every moment of rapture she had ever known with him.
But as he tried to lift her she cried out, ‘My ankle,’ and fell back alone into the darkness.
When she opened her eyes again there was light so bright that it was almost painful. And there was a soft mattress under her aching body, a sharp hospital smell in the air, and tight strapping round her throbbing ankle.
There was also Marco, his face haggard, until he turned into a bearded man in a white coat, who smiled kindly and asked how she felt.
‘Like one big bruise,’ she said, her voice husky. And then, with sudden fear, ‘My baby?’
‘Still in place, Signora Valante, and waiting for a proper birthday. You are a strong lady, and your child is strong too.’
‘Thank God,’ she whispered, and lay back against the pillow, tears trickling down her face. When she could speak, she said, ‘I thought—my husband…’
‘He is here, signora. I will let you talk to him, then you must rest, and in the morning, if all is well, he can take you home.’
‘Everything will be,’ she said.
‘But first I must ask what happened to you. How you came to be lying by the road in such weather.’
She frowned, trying to remember. ‘There was a car,’ she said slowly. ‘Going too fast. I tried to get out of the way, and fell.’
‘Do you know what kind of car—or did you see the number plate?’
She shook her head. ‘It all happened so fast.’
‘Then we must thank God it was not worse,’ he said gravely, and left her.
When she opened her eyes again, Marco was sitting by the bed.
He said hoarsely, ‘I thought I had lost you, my love, my dearest heart. Santa Madonna, I was so frightened. When I saw you lying there on the grass…’
‘But I’m safe,’ she told him softly. ‘And your baby is safe too.’ She pushed aside the covers and took his hand, placing it under the hospital gown on the bare mound of her abdomen. The baby moved suddenly, forcefully, as if woken from a sound sleep, and Flora looked at her husband and smiled, and saw his face transformed—transfigured.
He bent his head and put his cheek against her belly, and she felt his tears on her skin.
He said, brokenly, ‘Flora—oh, Flora mia, I love you so much. These last months have been a nightmare. I could not reach you. I thought I never would. That you would never want to be my wife, no matter how I longed for you. That even when our child was born you might not turn to me.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Mia cara, can you ever forgive the wrong I did you and let me be your husband in truth? I swear I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.’
She ran a caressing hand over his dishevelled hair. ‘I think I might.’ Her voice trembled into a smile. ‘If you’ll kiss me, and tell me again that you love me.’
He raised his head sharply, his eyes scanning her face. He said her name, then his mouth was on hers, passionately, tenderly, in a kiss that was also a vow.
A long time later, she said, ‘Why aren’t you in Milan?’
‘What a question, mia bella,’ Marco said lazily. ‘Anyone would think you were not pleased to see me.’ He’d managed somehow to squeeze himself on to the narrow bed beside her, and was lying with her wrapped in his arms and her head on his chest.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘But I’d still like a straight answer.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Cara, I have thought about you every day we have been apart, but today it was different. From the moment I awoke this morning I had this strange feeling that you needed me, that I should come to you. And then Alfredo telephoned me, as usual, and told me that Tonio and Ottavia had returned and were staying at the villa. I knew my instinct was right and I should come home at once.’
Ottavia, thought Flora in horror, remembering that briefly glimpsed face at the wheel of the car.
She must have tensed, because he said at once, ‘Is something wrong?’
It might have been, she thought. But it wasn’t. Because if Ottavia had been tempted to run her down she’d pulled out at the last moment. Perhaps it was enough for her to know that the girl she hated had taken a dive into the mud.
Whatever, she thought, it’s because of her that Marco is here with me now. And because of that I can forgive her anything. So I’ll keep her secret. Because she has caused enough trouble and I only want to be happy.
Aloud, she said, ‘I didn’t know Alfredo phoned you each day.’
‘I needed to ask about you, mia cara. To make sure you were well, and perhaps happy. All the questions I dared not ask you.’ He sighed. ‘Every time we were together I wanted to fall on my knees in front of you and beg for another chance, but I was afraid I would just make you angry, and that you would use that as an excuse to leave me again.’
She said gently, ‘I think I forgave you a long time ago. And, whatever your motivation, it brought us together. I can’t forget that.’
‘Yet it so nearly did not,’ he said slowly. ‘When I first came to England I was very angry. Your former fidanzato had done great damage to the Baressi family, and to the girl to whom I was reluctantly engaged.’
He shook his head. ‘Dio, Ottavia was hysterical—threatening suicide. And then there was my godmother, telling me with every breath it was my duty to avenge Ottavia’s honour, and mine.’
‘Were you very fond of her?’
‘I was grateful. She could be kind, especially when my parents died. But not fond. She was too cold a woman.’
‘So why did you agree to this revenge scheme?’
He said ruefully, ‘Because she gave me no peace, and
also I felt this Cristoforo deserved to be punished.’
He paused. ‘And I felt guilty too, for asking Ottavia to marry me for no better reason than it had always been expected of us. She knew that I did not love her, and I think was hurt by it. This may have driven her to behave as she did. She wanted attention, and sex, and the appearance of love—and she had none of them from me. So she looked for them elsewhere and found Cristoforo, who did not love her either.
‘It was Ottavia who insisted that any form of revenge should involve you, because you were the reason Cristoforo had left her. But by the time I reached England I’d had time to think, and I decided that I would pursue your fidanzato only. Attack him financially, and ruin him.’
‘So why did you change your mind?’ Flora asked.
He said slowly, ‘Because I was curious. The detective I had engaged had tracked you down, and I went to the restaurant where you were having lunch in order to see the girl who had been preferred to Ottavia.’
He paused. ‘And when I saw you, mia bella, I wanted you so badly that it scared me, because I had never felt like that for any woman before. And, if I am being honest, I did not want to feel it for you. I told myself that to have you would be the quickest way to cure myself of such a need. So—I reverted to my original plan.’
She sighed. ‘And I just—fell into your hand.’
He put his lips remorsefully to the curve of her cheek. ‘But I was not cured, carissima. And the more I tried to satisfy my appetite for you, the hungrier I got. And it wasn’t just your body I wanted, either. I found I was longing to protect you and cherish you for my whole life. I wanted you as my wife, and the mother of my children.’
His voice hardened. ‘And I was even more determined to take you away from your fidanzato because I knew he would never love you as I did.
‘Then, after the plan had worked, it was too late to tell you the truth, because I was scared I would lose you. So I took the coward’s way out and said nothing, and lost you anyway.’
‘But you came after me,’ she reminded him gently. ‘That wasn’t cowardly.’
He winced. ‘But it was the worst day of my life, cara. Because I could see how I had hurt you—and that you hated me for it. And I was helpless. There was no excuse I could make for what I had done. Not then—because you would not have listened.’
He cupped her chin in his hand. ‘But what I came to tell you, my darling one, and what you have to know and believe, is that I did not take you for revenge alone, but because I could not live without you.’
He bent his head, and his mouth was gentle as it took hers for a long moment.
When her breathing had steadied again, she said, ‘If the phone hadn’t rung when it did, would you have gone—walked out of my life?’
‘I told myself so,’ he admitted. ‘But in my heart I knew that I would keep trying to get you back. And then, by a miracle, I was given another chance.’
‘But you were so cold,’ she said. ‘So businesslike with your terms.’
‘I was in shock,’ Marco told her frankly. ‘And I was angry, too, because I knew that if I had not heard that message you would not have told me about our baby. And that hurt.’
‘I’ve thought all this time that you regretted marrying me,’ she said. ‘You spent so much time away from me in Milan—I thought perhaps you’d found someone else.’
He gave a low laugh. ‘Because of that stupid thing I said? I told you, Flora mia, I was hurt, and I wanted to hit back. And also to see if I could make you jealous a little, because that would mean that you cared. And I was ready to clutch at any straw.’
She pulled a face. ‘I cared as much as you could ever have wanted,’ she told him candidly.
‘But not as much as I did, I think.’ His voice was rueful, self-accusatory. ‘Dio, I was even jealous of your poor Mutt.’
‘Marco!’ Flora gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘I grudged him every kind word. That was when I decided, for my own sanity, to stay away from the castello and stop torturing myself.’
‘And I was so lonely,’ she said. ‘I needed some kind of outlet for all the love I had pent up inside me. You don’t still dislike him, do you?’
‘On the contrary, I am grateful to him. It was his howling that gave us a clue where to find you, and then he came running out of the darkness and led us back to you.’ He paused. ‘But I have no plans to allow him to sleep on our bed, mia cara, as I am told he does on yours. I am not that magnanimous.’
She gave him a demure look from under her lashes. ‘Are you suggesting, signore, that you and I should share a bed again?’
‘I do not suggest, signora. I demand. I need to hold you in my arms at night to convince myself that my other miracle has been granted.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘That you love me, carissima, and want to be with me.’
She put up a hand and stroked his face, smoothing away the lines of strain and weariness, her eyes luminous with tenderness.
She said softly, ‘For the rest of my life, my dearest love.’
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8058-2
THE FORCED MARRIAGE
First North American Publication 2003.
Copyright © 2002 by Sara Craven.
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