Unfortunately, Sofia and Gregorio had long since died of peaceful old age, but there were two other horses that could be ridden. They were placid, geriatric things but it had been so long since they’d been outside their field, they were eager for a gallop.
The cousins saddled up quickly, Alessandro’s spirits lifting for the first time since his great-grandfather’s death. The oaty smell of the animals’ breath, the creak of the leather, the feel of a warm muzzle under his hand made him feel instantly better, despite the annoying presence of his Australian relation.
Memories flooded home to Annabella. She knew exactly how to find the path that led along the cliff through the woods, even where the jumps were that she’d insisted Gregorio leap over. And she remembered Alessandro at seventeen. At thirty, he was even more beautiful, she thought, as she swung easily into the saddle.
He was already mounted, his powerful legs leaving the horse in no doubt as to who was the master, his hands lightly holding the reins. As he squeezed his animal forward, the muscles in his thighs and calves flexed and, riding behind him, she felt the now familiar flutter of lust deep inside her at the sight of his rounded buttocks, slim hips and triangular-shaped torso.
If his body was that of a classical statue, she mused, his face belonged in a fresco. His eyes were dark brown pools of liquid chocolate in which she would happily drown. His lashes were long and dark and brushed his cheeks when he glanced downwards. His brow was smooth and high and his cheekbones angular, with hollows beneath, curving to a proud, square, dimpled jaw. His nose was that of an emperor on an ancient Roman coin, leaving one in no doubt as to his lineage. His lips, she was sure, were made for kissing, full and sensual. She remembered that he’d laughed a lot during that summer when she was a girl on the brink of puberty. He rarely smiled now.
Annabella sighed and wondered how she’d be able to stay in the saddle. She felt so overcome with yearning for him she feared she might faint. She recalled her gallops on Gregorio, when she’d skirted so dangerously close to the cliff-edge. There’d be no risk-taking like that in Alessandro’s presence now. Even a slow walk was almost too much for her in her present state.
How would she cope, she asked herself, seeing him every day, perhaps, and not being able to even touch him while Claudia…
She slammed the thought from her mind, her body at once alert again and in its true horse-riding mode. She rode often on the farm at home and was good at it. Alessandro, too, was an excellent horseman though even he seemed to be making hash of it today, she noticed, his foot falling out of the stirrup several times, his hands less sure.
She squeezed her mount past his, giving it its head as it seemed to want.
Alessandro sighed and wondered how he’d be able to stay in the saddle. His mutinous body was making a liar of his professed dislike for his second cousin. He’d risk his life if he tried galloping in this state.
He watched her canter past, her hair flying in a red tangle behind her, her soft, round breasts and bottom bouncing so deliciously he knew he’d have to seek out Claudia very soon or he would burst.
Soon, horses and riders came to the edge of the woods, a dark, silent place where the leafy canopy filtered the sunlight and splashed it like green paint on the forest floor. Even the birds seemed to understand that it was siesta time and were quiet. Only the river, burbling peacefully over its pebble bed, made a sound.
Alessandro could have counted on one hand the number of times he’d been here since he was seventeen and showing it to Annabella for the first time. He wondered why he’d denied himself this magical, beautiful refuge. He almost felt human again – almost.
“It’s exquisite, just as I remember,” she whispered, walking her horse beside his.
“Yes. It’s perfect,” he agreed, before adding bitterly, “And now it’s yours.”
CHAPTER THREE
The mood was spoilt and they both knew it.
“I’m going back,” Annabella said, turning her horse homewards.
“Race you!” called Alessandro, his nostalgia replaced by a feeling of anger against this intruder into his life and against the world in general. He squeezed his mount into a gallop, his second cousin close on his heels.
They sped through the trees, leaping fallen logs and ditches in an effort to be the first to return to the stables. This time, unlike on the occasions when he and Annabella had ridden on her first visit to Casa dei Fiori, he didn’t hold his horse back.
As they tore at breakneck speed around a sweep of trees, another rider appeared, coming towards them uncertainly. Alessandro’s horse, which had been leading, reared up in surprise, as did the other animal, which was approaching from the bend.
Its rider was flung onto the ground. Annabella was out of the saddle and beside the unfortunate person in half a second, astonished to realize it was Claudia who lay moaning on the leaf-litter. Claudia, wearing a designer hacking jacket in green velvet, white jodhpurs and long black boots.
“Are you all right?” Annabella asked her, concerned despite her instinctive dislike of this woman.
“Claudia, cara, you’re not hurt?” questioned Alessandro, who was now also kneeling beside the prostrate form.
“My ankle!” Claudia whimpered, gripping Alessandro’s hand.
“Try not to move,” Annabella suggested. “I’ll ride into the village for the doctor.”
Alessandro looked up from the woman lying on the ground to Annabella. He had to admit, he was proud of her. She could be excused for behaving less than civilly to his neighbour, yet she was showing nothing but compassion and good sense.
“Do you remember the way?” he asked her.
“I think so. I hope so,” she said.
“Why don’t I go for the doctor, in case you get lost?” Alessandro suggested.
“No, Alessandro, stay here with me, please,” protested Claudia, who was clutching his arm in a vice-like grip.
“I’ll find the doctor,” Annabella reassured them confidently, determined not to take a last look at the couple on the ground as she sprang into the saddle. Claudia was now, sickeningly, Annabella thought, being cradled in Alessandro’s arms, her perfectly-groomed head against his chest, her hair brushing against his jaw. Why hadn’t she, Annabella, planned to fall off her horse and gain his attention? Round one to Claudia, she conceded. But she wouldn’t win the next one, not over Annabella’s dead body.
Alessandro watched his second cousin canter in the direction of the village, marvelling at how physically different she was from the plump twelve year old he’d known. She really was the swan who’d magically emerged from the plain little duckling.
“My neck is so sore,” Claudia complained, leaning heavily against him.
He massaged her neck as best he could in his awkward position, doing his best to alleviate her pain and to swallow his irritation when she complained he was rubbing too hard, too soft or in the wrong spot.
After what seemed an eternity, he heard horses’ hooves and saw two riders emerge through the trees. The woods were impassable for motor vehicles.
Doctor Esposito was a keen equestrian. He’d brought essential medical supplies in his saddle bag and dismounted quickly, jerking his head back to Annabella, who was slower in getting off her horse.
“Your second cousin has a very nasty graze across her forehead,” the young doctor informed Alessandro. “I asked her about it and I got it out of her that she had scratched herself against a low branch in her hurry to find me. It needs looking at but she is worried about Signora Silvestro. Will you persuade her to let me treat it later?”
“Of course,” Alessandro said, watching with increasing concern as Annabella climbed somewhat giddily from the saddle, one hand holding a blood-stained tissue to her head. He wondered why he wished he could help her and why he resented having to act as an armchair for Claudia. Annabella was, he reminded himself afresh, an unwelcome arrival at Casa dei Fiori.
The doctor removed Claudia’s kid leather boot and was gently
examining the swollen ankle, which was also decorated with a gold chain.
“Is it broken?” the woman demanded.
“No, Signora, thank God,” the doctor informed her. “Just a little sprain. You’ll be dancing again on your terrace in a day or two.”
“A sprain?” she repeated, making the word sound like an accusation. “But that’s ridiculous. The pain is almost too much to bear. I demand a second opinion.”
“By all means, Signora, seek another doctor’s advice,” the doctor shrugged. “But, you know I am right.” He lowered his voice and spoke worriedly to Alessandro. “I’m more worried about your plucky little relative, Signor. I believe she may have a touch of concussion. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to her.”
With Claudia still clinging possessively to him, Alessandro couldn’t follow the doctor. Annabella had sat herself down against a wide-trunked oak, her head in her hands. Doctor Esposito persuaded her to let him look under the bloody tissue and Alessandro heard him say, “You need a few stitches, young lady, I am sorry to say. And the rest of the day in bed.”
“But I have to start work on the farm…” she began to protest before the doctor silenced her by putting a finger over her lips.
“I am going to take you home to Tonia,” he told her. “You aren’t well enough to ride again today. I’ll put you in the saddle in front of me so I can support you and lead your horse.”
“What about Claudia?” Alessandro heard her ask, her voice shaky.
“Claudia is Claudia,” the doctor answered enigmatically. He lowered his voice, but Alessandro heard him say, “I suppose she’ll want Signor de Rocco to carry her back to her villa, although she’s perfectly able to walk. She is a manipulator, that one.”
In the end, Alessandro persuaded Claudia to let him lift her up on the horse she’d insisted on borrowing from his stable and he led her home, never taking his eyes off the retreating form of the doctor, his arms firmly around Annabella.
“What on Earth made you decide to ride?” Alessandro asked Claudia crossly, when at last they were on her terrace, overlooking the peaceful valley and sipping chilled prosecco.
“I thought that if there was ever going to be a time for me to take up riding, it would be now,” she answered, her topaz cat’s eyes watching him from over the top of her frosted glass.
“You’re impossible, Claudia,” he smiled, his anger turned to amusement.
“You’re not angry with me, then, big boy?” she said in the kittenish voice he loved.
“Only a little bit,” he told her.
She recoiled as if he had slapped her. “A little bit? You mean I’m not completely forgiven? Despite the pain you caused me?”
He sighed and took his eyes off hers, focusing instead on the wisp of blue smoke he saw curling above the cypresses. It came from the chimney of Casa dei Fiori and meant that Tonia was cooking again, probably making soup for Annabella.
“Why am I in your bad books still, Alessandro?” she insisted, her voice diamond-sharp.
“Because another person was injured as a result of your stupidity,” he answered, meeting her yellow glare again.
“Ah yes, little Annabella. You are fond of her, no? Although the old man gave her everything, you are a tiny bit in love with her, I think. Am I not right?”
“You are certainly not right, Claudia,” he bit out, pushing his chair back so hard as he got to his feet that it scraped unnervingly on the tiled floor.
“But, although you do not love her, you are going to go to her now, eh?”
“It is my duty to make sure she’s all right. She has concussion, for goodness’ sake. Even you must realize that head injuries can be dangerous.”
“Ah, yes. I do realize,” Claudia spat, flinging back the contents of her glass and refilling it. “But, I believe that injuries of the heart are far more hazardous.”
“What would you know about the heart? I didn’t know you had one,” he retorted.
She let out a cackling laugh. “The little Australian has certainly exposed a raw nerve in you. I will enjoy watching what happens between you two. I wonder if golden-haired Dottore Umberto Esposito will thicken the plot even further.”
“When will you stop living your life as if you were a character in a romance novel?” Alessandro flung at her before he strode away without a backward glance. What had she meant about the doctor? Was he interested in his beautiful relative? Why would he not be?, Alessandro thought, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He was single, aged about thirty and probably handsome, by most women’s standards. Also, he was renowned for his bedside manner and Alessandro had certainly witnessed that, when he lifted Annabella so tenderly up on his horse and rode with her back to Casa dei Fiori.
Alessandro entered the house where he was born, half expecting to see, through the open door that led into the sunny salon, his great-grandfather in his usual chair. The old man had been dead three weeks but the younger one couldn’t quite believe he was gone. His ears strained for the usual hearty greeting, for the sound of his great-grandfather’s ancient dog, which scrabbled to her feet and waddled arthritically over to greet him whenever he came home.
The dog died a day after the old man, unable to carry on without her beloved master. Sometimes, Alessandro wished he’d been able to give up, too. His great-grandfather had been like a father to him and, even at 98, had been a fun-loving, astute companion until the last few days. Alessandro had enjoyed sharing meals with him under the fig tree, was proud to drive him down to Fortezza Rosa for his weekly card games at the little café. Yet, at the very end, the old man had taken this house away from him. The one thing he had left had been torn from him and handed over to someone who cared nothing for it.
Tonia, coming down the stairs after taking Annabella some minestrone, felt her heart contract at the sight of the young man staring so longingly into the empty salon.
“Here,” she said, walking over to him and handing him a snowy handkerchief. “Wipe your eyes. He’s not gone, you know, Alessandro. He’s with us still. We can’t see him, that’s all.” She patted him kindly on the shoulder and said in a whisper, “Why don’t you go up and see the little heiress? She was calling out for you in her sleep just now.”
“She’s still asleep?”
“No. She’s awake and she’s had a little meal. But the dottore says she must rest in bed for another few days. I don’t know how I’m going to make her stay there. She’s already telling me she must get up and start work on the farm.”
Alessandro hesitated at the foot of the stairs, his genuine concern for the patient fighting with his outrage that she now owned his birthright.
“Go on,” Tonia urged, nodding in the direction of Annabella’s room – the one that had been his.
He took the stairs in his usual fashion of three at a time and pushed open the door. Doctor Esposito was sitting on the bed, Annabella propped up on a pile of white pillows, her hair frothing around her like clouds at sunset, a bandage around her forehead. She was laughing softly at something the doctor was telling her in his quaint broken English.
Both looked up when they heard the sound of the door and Alessandro had the distinct and decidedly uncomfortable feeling that he was disturbing an intimate moment.
“I…I came to see if Annabella was all right,” he said, his anger rising. Until this morning, this room had been his safe harbour. Now, not a trace of his occupation remained.
“She is as well as can be expected,” the doctor told him in a brusque, businesslike fashion, as if to dismiss him.
“Thank you. That’s all I needed to know,” Alessandro replied with studied dignity, closing the door on the scene with rather more force than was needed.
On his way through the foyer, he almost knocked over Tonia, who was crossing the tiled floor with a big pile of laundry. He didn’t even stop to apologize as he headed for his neighbour’s villa.
“Alessandro,” Claudia cooed when he rejoined her on her terrace. “I’ve been expecting you,
mio caro. Won’t you have another glass of wine?”
“Come here,” he rasped, reaching for her toned, tanned body.
“Oh, my darling,” she giggled, “I didn’t know you cared.”
After spending the evening with Claudia, Alessandro walked reluctantly down to the cottage in which he planned to live until Annabella grew tired of her Italian holiday and decided to take herself back to where she belonged, her daddy’s huge farm on the other side of the world.
He spent a miserable night there, having forgotten that the electricity had long ago been disconnected. His family hadn’t been able to afford a caretaker for almost as long as he could remember, so the small house had been allowed to fall into disrepair. Without even a candle, he fell into his cold, lonely bed and fumed, thinking of Annabella in his bedroom at Casa dei Fiori, warm, cosseted by Tonia and the doctor, and well-fed.
But Annabella was not feeling particularly happy either. She’d been hurt that Alessandro had merely poked his head around her door to make a cold inquiry about her health. And she’d disappointed Tonia by only eating a few mouthfuls of the delicious soup she’d made especially for her. Doctor Esposito and Tonia both looked at her sorrowfully as she pushed the bowl away. How could she have confessed to either of them that she wanted to lose a few inches here and there so her second cousin would at least look at her? She’d never be able to compete with trim, taut and terrific Claudia if she resembled a butter-ball, would she?
She missed her parents dreadfully, and her friends. She did love Casa dei Fiori, whatever Alessandro might think, but it wasn’t the same without their great-grandpapa’s cheerful, noisy presence. He was always singing, she remembered. He had a wonderful voice and would sing a Tuscan folk song with as much gusto as one of the great arias written by his favourite composer, Verdi. The house once rang with cascades of notes, with the barking of his dog. It had been fragrant with the mingled scents of the cigars he smoked and the coffee he drank black and very strong.
Every day of her visit with her parents he’d go out on the terrace and cut armfuls of the wonderful golden perfumed roses he loved. He’d bring them into Tonia, who would fill the vases with fresh flowers every day. There were hardly any roses now. The big, climbing bush had been neglected as the old man’s health had begun to wane and it rarely bloomed.
Loving Venus (Sally-Ann Jones Sexy Romance) Page 3
