‘I feel so ashamed,’ he said, suddenly dropping down to his knees in front of her and taking her hands in his. ‘How could I want to hurt the person I love?’
Claudia gazed into his eyes and saw they were clouded by a miasma of guilt and pain. But beneath that misery, she could see a glimmer of something else.
No, it was more than a glimmer. It was a warm bright glow and it was shining directly into her soul.
It was love. He loved her.
‘I can never forgive myself for hurting you so badly,’ Marco said.
‘You must forgive yourself,’ Claudia said, squeezing his large powerful hands with her own. ‘Because I forgive you.’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘How can you? After every awful thing I’ve said and done?’
‘Because I love you.’
She smiled, feeling the words sparkle in the air between them like a spell. It felt so good to say it—it was the truth from the very bottom of her heart—and at that moment she knew everything would be all right.
‘But I broke your heart.’
From the bemused frown on Marco’s face, she could tell he needed more convincing. She lifted her hand and smoothed it tenderly across the lines that creased his forehead.
‘It isn’t broken any more—feel it beating.’ She took his hand and pressed it over her left breast. ‘And with every beat my happiness is growing—my love for you is growing’
‘You still want to be with me?’ His voice was incredulous, but she could finally hear a tentative note of joy.
‘Of course—I love you.’
‘I love you.’ He said the words solemnly, looking deep into her eyes, as if he still didn’t think she would believe him.
‘I’ve always loved you,’ she said. ‘I thought we were soul mates—I’ve never met anyone who understands me like you do.’
‘But look how I used that understanding,’ he said, a pang of guilt echoing through his voice.
‘Shh,’ she said, pressing her index finger lightly over his lips. They felt warm and vital under her fingertip. ‘We don’t need to think about it ever again. Primo and Francesca are going to prison—they’re out of our lives for good.’
‘That news clip I showed you was recorded hours ago,’ Marco said. ‘They were arrested hours ago—but I felt nothing. In the end it meant nothing compared to my feelings for you.’
‘Does Primo know he was arrested because of you?’ she asked. Despite her conviction that they needed to put the past behind them, there were still one or two more things that needed to be said.
‘No, I don’t think so. And I don’t care any more,’ Marco replied, suddenly moving up to sit beside her on the sofa. ‘When it comes to trial I may have to give evidence, but I don’t care if he never knows it was me.’
‘What will happen about the stolen money?’ she asked. ‘Will the people still lose their pensions?’
He cupped her face in his hands and leant forward to kiss her lips with aching tenderness.
‘You are such a wonderful, kind person,’ he murmured. ‘Even with everything that’s going on, you are thinking about other people. Don’t worry. They will be all right. When all of Vasile’s assets are seized, there will be enough money.’
‘I’m glad,’ Claudia said. ‘I hated thinking about letting all those people down so badly.’
‘You are an angel,’ Marco said, kissing her again. ‘Your goodness has freed me from my soul-destroying obsession to avenge my family. I love you more than I can ever say.’
Claudia slipped her arms around him and held him tight, watching the Christmas tree lights splinter into a kaleidoscope of colours reflected in the tears of happiness that suddenly filled her eyes.
She clung to him, never wanting to let him go, basking in the certain knowledge that he felt the same way.
‘There’s something else I need to tell you,’ Marco said. ‘I’ve sent a top antique restorer to the house in Piedmont. Your father’s desk has been repaired. Only someone with an expert eye would be able to tell it had been damaged.’
‘Thank you,’ Claudia said, deeply touched by his thoughtfulness.
‘It was the least I could do,’ Marco replied quietly.
They were silent for a moment and Claudia looked around the room, noticing the decorations properly for the first time.
‘You’ve brought Christmas to us early,’ she murmured. Then she saw a delicious looking array of food had been set up on the side table—bright tropical fruit and Caribbean delicacies. ‘And what’s that wonderful smell?’
‘Spiced rum punch,’ he said. ‘It seemed more suitable for the Caribbean than mulled wine.’
‘For breakfast?’ she said laughing.
‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He smiled, looking almost bashful—if that was possible for such a heart-stoppingly gorgeous specimen of masculine perfection. ‘There’s plain juice if you prefer—or I can call for anything else you’d like.’
‘No—’ she laughed ‘—I want rum punch. We’re celebrating.’
‘There’s one more thing,’ Marco said. ‘I’d be honoured if you’d come to Turin to spend Christmas with me for real. We’d be near your father—but also, I know someone who has missed your friendship for four years.’
‘Bianca?’ Claudia asked quietly. ‘But doesn’t she think terrible things about me?’
‘No,’ Marco said. ‘Hard as it will be for you to believe me, I never poisoned her against you. I was still trying to protect her. She knew we’d been involved, and out of respect for my feelings she let your friendship drop. Being on the other side of the Atlantic helped that.’
‘I’ve missed her too,’ Claudia said. ‘It would be really wonderful to rekindle our friendship.’
A sudden joyful smile lit up Marco’s face and he sprang to his feet, carrying Claudia with him in his enthusiasm.
‘I love you so much!’ he exclaimed, hugging her so energetically that her feet lifted off the floor.
Claudia laughed and clung happily to him, gasping with delight as he suddenly lifted her higher and spun her round and round, laughing with her in his happiness.
At last they came to rest next to the Christmas tree, and Claudia found herself looking with delight at the decorations—the branches were adorned with gorgeous glazed ceramic shapes and the cutest Christmas motifs and figures, made entirely from whole nutmegs, cinnamon sticks and other spices she didn’t immediately recognise.
‘They’re all crafted locally,’ Marco said.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Claudia breathed, leaning close to the tree. ‘And it smells like Christmas too. I love the scent of spices.’
‘This is the Caribbean!’ Marco exclaimed. ‘A tropical paradise. I’ll take you to places where the air is saturated with spice and every breath fills your lungs with the natural perfumes of exotic flowers.’
‘That sounds amazing,’ Claudia said, hugging him close once more. ‘But I don’t need to go anywhere to feel like that. Just being with you makes me feel like I’m in paradise.’
He hugged her back, wrapping his strong powerful arms around her in a way that made her forget everything but how wonderful it was to be held by him. Eventually they sank back down on to the sofa and he brought her a glass of rum punch.
She sipped the potent brew, unable to take her eyes off Marco’s face, hardly able to believe how happy she felt. The beautiful glow of love filled her and the fiery heat of passion was starting to flow through her veins as she looked deep into his sultry eyes.
She lifted her hand and brushed her fingers through his black hair.
It was still stiff with salt from his swim the previous day and she realised he’d been too distraught to think about washing it.
‘You need to shower and shave,’ she said, smoothing her hand against his stubbled jaw line.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘I need you with me.’
She knew he was talking about more than the shower. He needed her for the rest of their lives.
‘Always,’ she said. ‘I’ll love you always. And I’ll be with you for ever.’
THE PRINCE’S ARRANGED BRIDE
SUSAN STEPHENS
~ MARRIED BY CHRISTMAS ~
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER ONE
CROWN PRINCE ALESSANDRO BUSSONI OF FERARA narrowed amber eyes in lazy speculation as he continued to stare at the brightly lit stage. ‘She’d do.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
There was no emotion in the question. The man sitting next to the Prince on the top table at the lavish Midsummer ball wore the carefully controlled expression of a career diplomat, and had a voice to match. Thin and lugubrious, with sun-starved features, it would have been impossible for Marco Romagnoli to provide a sharper contrast to his employer, and Crown Prince Alessandro’s blistering good looks were supported by one of the brightest minds in Europe, as well as all the presence and easy charm that was his by right of birth.
‘I said she’d do,’ the Prince repeated impatiently, turning a compelling gaze on his aide-de-camp. ‘You’ve paraded every woman of marriageable age before me, Marco, and failed to tempt me once. I like the look of this girl—’
And it was a lot more than just her stunning appearance, Alessandro acknowledged silently as his glance went back to the stage. The girl possessed an incredible energy not dissimilar to his own—an energy that seemed to leap out from the gaudily dressed performance area and thump him straight in the chest.
All he had to offer her was a cold-blooded business deal, but…His sensuous mouth curved in a thoughtful smile. In this instance mixing business with pleasure might not be such a bad thing.
‘Are you serious, Your Royal Highness?’ Marco Romagnoli murmured, taking care not to alert their fellow diners.
‘Would I joke about so serious a matter as my future wife? Alessandro demanded in a fierce whisper. ‘She looks like fun.’
‘Fun, sir?’ Marco Romagnoli leaned forward to follow his employer’s eyeline. ‘You are talking about the singer with the band?’
‘You find something wrong with that?’ the Prince demanded, swivelling round to level a challenging gaze on his aide’s face.
‘No, sir,’ Marco returned in a monotone, knowing the Prince would brook no prejudice based on flimsy face-value evidence. ‘But if I may ask an impertinent question…?’
‘Ask away,’ Alessandro encouraged, his firm mouth showing the first hint of amusement as he guessed the way Marco’s mind was working.
‘She’d do for what, exactly, sir…? Only she’s rather—’
‘Luscious? Bold? Striking? In your face? What?’ the Prince prompted adjusting his long legs as if the enforced inactivity was starting to irk him.
‘All of those,’ Marco suggested uncomfortably, his glance flashing back to the stage, where Emily Weston was well into her third number and clearly had the affluent, well-oiled crowd eating out of her hand. ‘I can see that a young lady like that holds a certain attraction for—’ Marco Romagnoli eased his fingers under a starched white collar that seemed to be on the point of choking him.
‘Go on. Don’t stop now,’ Prince Alessandro encouraged, reining in his amusement.
Taking a few moments to rethink his approach, the usually unflappable courtier replied carefully, ‘Well, sir, I can see she’s a beauty, and undoubtedly perfect for certain activities. But you surely can’t be thinking—’
‘You mean I should bed her, not wed her?’ Alessandro suggested dryly, as he looked back to where Emily had the microphone clutched between both hands for a slow number, looking as if she was about to devour it.
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself, sir. In my opinion such an ill-judged match would only create more problems than it would solve.’
‘I disagree,’ the Crown Prince of Ferara countered, ‘and nothing you can say will persuade me that the girls you have paraded before me would fill the role any better—or vacate it without causing problems.’
He paused, and took another long look at the stage. ‘As it is not my intention to break any hearts, Marco, this is the perfect solution. I want a straightforward business deal and a short-term bride—’
‘Short-term, sir?’
Alessandro turned to answer the disquiet so clearly painted across the other man’s face.
‘I know,’ he said, leaning closer to ensure they were not overheard. ‘You’re thinking of all the other implications such an arrangement would entail—I would expect nothing less of you, my old friend.’
The Prince’s companion grew ever more troubled. Even if he could have shed the role of cautious professional advisor, Marco Romagnoli had known Alessandro from the day of his birth, and was considered an honorary member of the royal family.
‘I wouldn’t wish to see anyone take advantage of you, sir,’ he said now, with concern.
‘I shall take good care to ensure that none of the parties involved in my plan is taken advantage of,’ Alessandro assured him. ‘Thanks to our country’s archaic legislation I can think of no other way to solve the problem of succession. If my father is to have his wish and retire I must marry immediately. It’s obvious to me that this young woman has spirit. When I put my proposition to her I think she will have an instant grasp of the advantages that such a match can bring to both of us.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Marco agreed reluctantly, flinching visibly as Emily launched into a raunchy upbeat number.
‘I have seen enough, Marco,’ the Prince said, reclaiming his aide’s attention. ‘And I like what I see. Please advise the young lady that Alessandro Bussoni wishes to talk with her after the performance tonight. No titles,’ he warned. ‘And if she asks, just say I have a proposition to put to her. And don’t forget to ask her name,’ he added as, without another word, Marco Romagnoli rose to his feet.
After the show, Emily Weston, the singer with the band, was having a tense debate over the phone with her twin sister Miranda.
‘Well, how do you deal with them?’ she demanded, shouldering the receiver to scoop up another huge blob of cleansing cream from her twin’s industrial-sized pot.
‘Who do you mean?’ Miranda snuffled between ear-splitting sneezes.
‘Stage Door Johnnies—’
Miranda’s summer cold symptoms dissolved into laughter. ‘Stage Door Whosies?’
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,’ Emily insisted, flashing another concerned glance towards the dressing room door.
‘I didn’t think there was such a thing as Stage Door Johnnies nowadays,’ Miranda said doubtfully.
‘Well, I can assure you there is,’ Emily insisted. ‘What else would you call uninvited gentleman callers who won’t take no for an answer?’
‘Depends on who’s doing the calling, I suppose,’ Miranda conceded, blasting out another sneeze. ‘Why don’t you just take a look at him first, before you decide?’
‘No way! That’s never been part of our agreement.’
‘But if he looks like Herman Munster you can send him packing…and if he’s a babe, pass him on to me. He’d never know the difference. If Mum and Dad can’t tell us apart, what chance does this man stand? What have you got to lose?’
‘Look, I’ll have to go,’ Emily said as another rap, far more insistent than the last, bounced off the walls around her head. ‘I told his messenger I couldn’t see anyone I didn’t know immediately after a show—pleading artistic temperament. He still hasn’t taken the hint.’
‘He sent someone round first?’ Miranda cut in, her voice taut with excitement. ‘He sounds interesting. He might be a VIP.’
‘I doubt it,’ Emily said as she peered into the mirror to peel off her false eyelashes. ‘Though when I said I wouldn’t see him I thought his representative muttered something about Prince being disappointed—’
‘Emily, you dope,’ Miranda exclaimed through another bout of sneezing.’ Prince Records is the recording company my band’s been hoping to sign with. And you’ve just turned away their scout.’
‘Can’t I get one of the boys to see him?’ Emily suggested hopefully. After all, there were five male members in Miranda’s band.
‘Are you kidding?’ Miranda exclaimed. ‘First of all they’ll be in the pub by now…and secondly, do you seriously think I’d trust them to discuss business without my being there?’
Remembering the dreamy idealism of Miranda’s fellow musicians, Emily could only respond in the negative. ‘It might have helped if you had warned me this might happen,’ she protested reasonably. ‘Have to go,’ she finished in a rush, wiping her hands on the towel across her lap as another flurry of raps hit the door. ‘Whoever this is, he’s not about to give up.’
Cutting the connection, Emily grabbed a handful of tissues as she shot up from her seat in front of the brilliantly lit mirror. Then, scooting behind a conveniently placed screen, she called out, ‘Come in.’
This was the craziest thing she had ever done, Emily thought nervously as she swiped off the last of her make-up and stuffed the used tissues into the pocket of her robe. She tensed as the door swung open.
‘Hello? Miss Weston? Miss Weston, are you there?’
Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology Page 43
