‘We’re both tired—and no wonder,’ Emily observed gently, trying to hold her husband still from his angry pacing when she knew she had little more to soothe him with than her voice.
‘I know,’ Alessandro said, shaking his head as he stopped dead to look at her, as if for the first time. It was as if she understood everything…and nothing, he realised, passing a single finger down the side of her face. But it wasn’t her fault…none of it was her fault.
Emily longed to grab hold of his hand then, and kiss it, and hold it against her cheek to warm him with her strength…her love…But the moment had passed, and now he was tense again. She could feel it in the air without looking at him.
‘My behaviour just now was unforgivable,’ Alessandro said, moving away from her. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. The last thing I want is to make this any harder for you than it already is.’ Reaching the door, he turned to face her again.
‘Is there anything…anything at all, Emily…that I could provide for you here in Ferara to make you happy?’
‘I am happy,’ she protested quickly.
‘Don’t give me a glib answer because that’s what you think I want to hear,’ he warned. Leaning back against the door, he said softly, ‘I mean it, Emily. Whatever you want—whatever it takes to make you happy—just name it.’
You, she thought, meeting his gaze steadily. That’s all I want…you. First, last and always.
‘You mentioned an idea for upgrading the palace apartments for staff—we could set up weekly meetings—’
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. Even a regular business meeting with him would be better than nothing at all. ‘I think that’s a wonderful idea.’
‘I’m pleased you think so.’
Emily returned his smile. The first real smile she had seen on his face all day. But if he’d wanted her half as much as she wanted him they would have been setting up a very different sort of assignation, she reminded herself sadly.
One thing was sure: he wouldn’t have been leaving her to spend their wedding night alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALESSANDRO’S father sat up in bed to stare at his son in tolerant mystification.
‘You come to my rooms at dawn to ask an old man like me what to do about the state of your marriage? Is this really my son Alessandro talking? I would hardly have believed it possible—before Emily came into your life,’ he added, shaking his head. ‘And had it not been for the nonsense you have told me about this—contract—’ he spat out the word ‘—had it not been for that misplaced kindness to me, you would never have found yourself in this mess in the first place. How could you do such a thing, Alessandro? And how could you imagine such a travesty would work?’
I did it for you, Father…only for you, Alessandro thought, taking the rebuke in silence. And in spite of everything he couldn’t find it in his heart to regret a thing…except that by trying to help his father it seemed that he had only succeeded in causing him more pain.
‘Emily is like a tender bud—’
‘I know, Father! I know!’ Alessandro exclaimed impatiently, swiping the back of his neck with his hand as he sprang to his feet to pace the room like a tiger with a thorn in its pad. ‘She is like no other woman I have ever met,’ he went on, shaking his head in utter incomprehension. ‘She shows no real interest in the priceless jewels she is entitled to wear, or the designer clothes I arranged to please her. She chooses instead to devote herself to the needs of our country, and to the small improvements she can make here at the palace. These…these are her passions.’
‘Are you complaining, Alessandro?’
‘No, Father! No. It’s just that I am having to learn a whole new way of dealing with a woman. I feel like a youth embarking on his first love affair—’
‘Perhaps this is your first love affair,’ the old Prince murmured sagely.
‘So, help me, Father. Tell me what to do.’ Alessandro stopped, and levelled a blazing stare on his father’s face. ‘You must help me. Before I lose her.’
‘You know what to do,’ his father told him calmly. ‘You know in your heart what is right, Alessandro. And if you want to make me happy, you will forget all about this foolish contract. Make this marriage work, Alessandro, or spend the rest of your life wishing that you had. It’s up to you.’
Alessandro stopped pacing and stared unseeing into the distance.’ Monte Volere,’ he murmured to himself. ‘I shall take her to Monte Volere.’ Then he turned around.’ Monte Volere, Father!’
‘September…harvest-time in Monte Volere,’ his father commented thoughtfully. ‘A very good place to recharge the batteries of the heart.’
Alessandro felt the tension leave him as he watched a smile of contentment curl around his father’s mouth.
‘I think you’ve redeemed yourself, Alessandro. It’s an excellent idea,’ the old Prince declared with satisfaction.
‘How soon can you be ready to leave?’
‘Leave?’ Emily said, still reeling from being shaken out of her slumbers by an Alessandro she had never seen before—black jeans, black tight-fitting top, black leather jacket slung across the broad sweep of his shoulders, tousled hair and yesterday’s beard throwing shadows across the harsh planes of his handsome face.
But they were man and wife now, and her husband seemed to need her. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, instantly alert. ‘Is it your father? Has something happened?’
‘Yes. No. And, no—not yet,’ he said, warming to her concern. ‘My father’s fine; don’t worry.’
Alessandro was all tension and energy, like a coiled spring about to unwind—fast, Emily realised. ‘So…?’ she began curiously.
‘How long?’ Alessandro repeated, not troubling to hide his impatience now.
‘Er…not long,’ Emily admitted. ‘I’d have to shower and—’ She broke off uncertainly. ‘Do I need to pack anything? Bring anything with me?’ she elaborated, drawing up the sheet when the intimacy of his stare brushed something savage in both of them.
‘You can shower when we get there. Come as you are.’
‘In my nightclothes?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it might cause a scandal?’ Emily ventured cautiously.
Alessandro’s look suggested that throwing her over his shoulder and storming off might cause a far bigger one.
‘You’re probably right,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘So be quick. Just sling on your jeans and let’s go.’
Jumping out of bed, Emily tore into her dressing room and, reaching into the very back of the wardrobe, where she had managed to conceal them from the army of wardrobe mistresses who had taken control of her clothes, she pulled out her jeans.
But the position of Princess came with conditions attached. One of the most onerous was that her appearance should never give cause for gossip or alarm. Discounting the crumpled denims out of hand, she grabbed a smart pair of navy trousers and a short-sleeved white blouse. They would do, Emily decided, gathering up her hair and securing it with a band and a couple of clips.
‘Ready?’ Alessandro said, barely looking at her as he grabbed hold of her forearm and dragged her with him.
‘Ready,’ Emily said, trying to catch her breath as she settled back in the passenger seat of a flame-red Ferrari.
‘Good,’ Alessandro said, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on the road, his foot flat to the floor.
With the palace disappearing into the distance behind them, Emily was relieved to find Alessandro’s driving fast but a good deal smoother than his chauffeur’s. He drove without speaking, and finally, when she was almost bursting with curiosity, he announced that they would be stopping for lunch at a small village in the hills.
The Prince of Ferara’s arrival with his new wife at an unpretentious café in the main square caused disbelief, followed swiftly by purposeful activity. And that was thanks largely to Alessandro’s manner, Emily realised as she watched him putting people at their ease. He had barely finished introd
ucing her around-and giving a pretty good impersonation of being proud of his choice of wife—when several women emerged from the kitchen, bearing local delicacies which they placed on the freshly scrubbed outdoor tables.
‘You will need your strength,’ one of them informed Alessandro coyly, nodding encouragement as she held out one of the first large oval dishes of pasta for him to taste.
‘My strength?’ he queried, making a point of not looking at Emily, though she noticed the smile he was gracious enough to hide behind a huge red-chequered napkin.
‘Si, Principe,’ all the other women chorused gaily, much to Emily’s embarrassment.
Then one of the men threaded his way through the women, flexing a battered cap in his hand. ‘Today is the Palio del Timone, Principe,’ he explained. ‘Each year we have a tug o’ war with the neighbouring village; you have arrived just in time—’ He stopped, as if he felt he had gone too far.
‘Go on,’ Alessandro encouraged, putting down his fork to listen.
‘If you took part…’ The man hesitated again.
Alessandro got to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I will take part.’
‘Federico,’ the man supplied, flashing up an expectant glance.
‘Federico,’ Alessandro said, shaking him by the hand, ‘you have just recruited a new member to your team. I am honoured to serve with you.’
Rubbing his hands together with glee, Federico turned. ‘Did you hear that? I believe this year we may just have the edge!’
As the excitement rose to fever-pitch, Emily remembered Alessandro had been in a rush when they left the palace. ‘Are you sure there’s time for this?’ she murmured with concern as she joined him.
‘Why not?’ he demanded, looking at her in amusement. ‘How much of a hurry are you in, Principessa?’
As she went after him Emily’s face was bright red, provoking delighted smiles and knowing looks from those women close enough to observe the exchange.
If their marriage had been consummated, Emily reckoned, a little embarrassment would have been a small price to pay. But as it was it seemed particularly unjust—especially as the women were still nudging each other and winking at her.
The news that Alessandro was to take part in the competition had spread like wildfire, and it seemed as if the entire population of the village had managed to crowd themselves into the small paved area around the café. Silence fell as he crossed the square to greet the opposing team. It was obvious that his side was at a considerable disadvantage, as most were older than their rowdy young opponents from the neighbouring village.
‘Do you think you can redress the balance?’ Emily asked anxiously, as she watched him strip to the waist. His naked torso was all the answer she needed, and a murmur of approval rose around them as he handed her the black top.
‘Take up the slack,’ the man from the café ordered, pointing to the thick rope lying on the ground.’ Principessa,’ he added, ‘when you drop the flag, the men must put their weight and their strength behind that rope. The first team to haul the others across that white line wins the Palio.’
Emily tried to concentrate—but was there anything more delicious than seeing Alessandro put his weight and his strength behind that rope? she wondered, watching the flex of muscles on his sun-bronzed body. If there was, she could only imagine it would be Alessandro completely stripped of his clothes.
His glance flashed across at precisely that moment, filling Emily with a very different kind of excitement from the rest of the spectators. And as she dropped the flag he gave a slight smile that seemed to promise her a contest no less involving than the one he was embarking upon.
Emily watched the denim mould around his impressive thighs as he dug his heels into the ground, gravel spitting up either side of his feet as he heaved. Each muscle and sinew was clearly defined as he threw every bit of his strength behind the rope, working to drag the other side closer to the line.
It was all over very suddenly. A groan from the losing side and a triumphant shout from Alessandro’s who, brandishing the rope, punched the air with their fists. Then there was a noisy round of back-slapping and congratulations, as well as good-natured banter before Alessandro came back to reclaim his top.
‘I’ll just take a shower, then I’ll be right with you,’ he promised, wheeling away to accompany Federico. ‘Then we’ll go,’ he called back to her over his shoulder. ‘Be ready.’
The villagers wanted Alessandro to share in their celebrations, and were disappointed when he told them he had to leave. But, having exacted a promise from him to return the following year, they accepted his decision and fell back.
‘If we are to reach Monte Volere before bedtime, I must go now,’ he explained, provoking another round of nudges and tempting Emily to disillusion everyone on the spot. Her husband’s hair might have been still wet from the shower, and his top clinging damply to the water droplets around his neck—giving the impression that he was in such a hurry to get back to her he hadn’t troubled to dry himself properly—but she knew he only wanted to get to his country estate before dark.
Beyond the narrow streets and close-clustered village houses the countryside opened into a vast, sprawling plain. As the tawny volcanic soil paled to blonde they sped on through the pale, freshly tilled earth on an arrow-straight road, until another range of hills, even higher than those they had left behind, loomed in front of them.
‘Not long now,’ Alessandro promised as he began to negotiate a series of tortuous hairpin bends. ‘I’m going to stop when we get to the top,’ he informed her. ‘Then you’ll see one of the most spectacular vistas in all of Ferara.’
Emily formed a sound of appreciation in her throat. But the last thing on her mind after the events in the village was a sightseeing trip. And even if Alessandro’s suggestion of an affair between them had been his idea of a joke, she had believed this trip to his country estate signalled his intention to bring them closer—if only for the sake of appearances. Now she knew the visit was nothing more than proof he intended to keep his word and show her around. And, keen as she was to learn more about Ferara, she was keener still to learn more about her husband.
‘Save it,’ she muttered ungraciously.
As Alessandro shot her a curious glance Emily regretted the outburst. He was only doing what he thought was right—what he thought she would enjoy.
‘No. I insist,’ he said firmly.
She had to admit he was right about the view. As she climbed out of the car Emily felt like an eagle staring down at the lake, tiny below them, shimmering in the heat haze like a panel of jewel-encrusted silk.
‘It’s absolutely stunning,’ she murmured, fighting off the insane urge to move close enough to slip her arm through his.
‘This region of Ferara has many similarities to the fiords of Norway,’ Alessandro said. ‘Don’t stand too close to the edge,’ he warned, coming to stand between Emily and the sheer drop only a metre or so in front of her feet.
Emily smiled, then felt unaccountably bleak when he started back to the car as if there was some other fabulous camera opportunity waiting just around the next bend for them.
‘You will find there is a lot of variety in Ferara,’ Alessandro remarked as he turned the car back onto what was now little more than a steep mountain track. ‘I hope you will eventually come to love it as much as I do.’
And the point would be…? Emily thought his remark strange, bearing in mind the peculiar circumstances of their marriage. ‘Mmm,’ she managed non-committally.
But if the view he had shown her had been the eagle’s perch, then his estate at Monte Volere was the eagle’s eyrie, she discovered as Alessandro turned in beneath a narrow stone archway. Set on the highest point of a hill cloaked with vineyards, the pink and cream stone of the old manor house glowed rose-red where shadows were painted by the failing light.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she said curiously.
Alessandro turned to stare at
her, an amused expression tugging at his mouth. ‘Rest and recreation—’
‘No. Really,’ Emily insisted.
‘Really,’ Alessandro replied steadily as he drew to a halt in front of the old building. ‘I thought you needed to get away from everything…everyone…for a few days.’
‘To be alone?’
But Alessandro had already climbed out of the car.
‘I’ll show you to your room,’ he called over his shoulder as she followed him up the steps. He opened an oak door and beckoned her inside.
My room? Emily thought, banishing the sense of disappointment. She stared across the stone-flagged hall as Alessandro sprinted up the stairs.
‘Well?’ he said, leaning over the carved wooden banister. ‘Aren’t you coming?’
The room he showed her into had been made cosy with throws, rugs and cushions in a variety of warm colours. One wall was almost completely devoted to a huge fireplace, carved from a single block of mellow honey-coloured sandstone. This housed a black wrought-iron grate and, because there was no need for a fire, an earthenware dish containing dried pot pourri to provide a splash of colour on the terracotta tiles. A wide-armed fan whirred lazily on the ceiling, stirring the scent of dried rose petals into the air. The thin coating of yellow ochre paint on the rough plaster walls had paled to lemon where the sunlight had faded it over many years, and exposed oak beams supported the high, sloping ceiling over the vast four-poster bed. Dressed with crisp white bedlinen, this offered a breathtaking view over the surrounding countryside—something Emily discovered when impulsively she flung herself down on it and bounced up and down.
‘I’ll be right across the landing if you need me,’ Alessandro said, closing the door quietly behind him before she had a chance to say a word.
Suddenly Monte Volere didn’t seem so appealing—she didn’t even want to be there any more. Gusting a long, shaky sigh, Emily stared around the empty room. If this was Alessandro’s idea of a honeymoon—She mashed her lips together, remembering he wasn’t much good at wedding nights either. But she wouldn’t let it get her down. No expectations, no disappointments, she reminded herself—and at least the bed looked comfy.
Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology Page 52
