by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
They found a table and ordered coffee, glancing around them as they sipped it.
‘Oh, look,’ Sally said suddenly. ‘That lovely dog.’
She’d fixed her eyes on a brown and white springer spaniel bouncing around, enjoying the puddles.
‘It’s so nice to see them having fun,’ she said.
‘You’re a sucker for dogs,’ Charlie observed. ‘If you love them so much I can’t think why you don’t have one.’
‘Because I’d have to leave him alone so much. It wouldn’t be kind. You never knew Jacko, did you?’
‘The dog you had before I was born?’
‘That’s right. I adored him. He had a terrific personality, just like that one over there. Bouncing everywhere, demanding attention.’ She struck a dramatic attitude. ‘Wuff! Look at me! That’s what he’s saying.’ She turned to the dog, who had come close enough to hear her. ‘Yes, all right, I’m looking at you. You’re beautiful.’
His ears perked, his face lit up, and the next moment he was flying towards her, bouncing into her lap, sending her coffee flying over her clothes.
‘Hey, look at your jacket!’ Charlie exclaimed.
‘Oh, heavens! Well, never mind. It’s only a jacket. It was my fault for calling him.’
‘And he’s covered you with wet paw prints.’
Suddenly a scream tore the air. ‘Toby! Toby!’
A young boy was dashing across the piazza towards them, waving his arms and screeching. Just behind him was a middle-aged woman, also running, her face dark with thunder.
‘Toby!’ the child shrieked. ‘Vieni qui!’
He reached Sally and flung his arms around the dog so fiercely that she was knocked off balance and would have crashed to the ground if Charlie hadn’t seized her just in time.
The woman began a tirade in Italian. Without understanding the words Sally gathered that she was furious and her manner towards the animal was alarming.
‘It’s all right,’ Sally said firmly. ‘It was an accident, not his fault.’
Hearing her speak English, the woman responded in the same language.
‘He’s a bad dog,’ she said. ‘He’s never been disciplined properly and it’s time something was done about him.’
‘No!’ the child screamed, tightening his arms around the animal. ‘He’s not bad.’
‘Of course he’s bad,’ the woman said. ‘Signor, mi appello a voi.’
The man she appealed to seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Looking up, Sally thought she recognised him as the man she’d seen at the hotel the night before. But it had been so dark that she found it hard to be sure.
‘Papa!’ the little boy screamed.
So this grim, scowling creature was the father of the boy. Only a swift response would help now. She confronted him.
‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ she said, praying that he spoke English. ‘I don’t know how much you saw—’
‘I saw the dog hurl himself at you and cover you with mud,’ he said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.
‘He’s just affectionate. It was my fault for calling out to him. He was being friendly.’
To her relief he nodded. ‘That’s generous of you. Thank you. Are you hurt?’
‘Not at all. It’s not his fault that it’s been raining.’ She patted the furry head. ‘You can’t help it raining, can you?’
‘Wuff!’
‘There, you see. He agrees with me.’
The boy gave a chuckle. The man’s face relaxed and he laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. The only person not pleased was the woman. The man spoke a few words to her in Italian. She glared and walked off.
‘She hates Toby,’ the boy complained.
‘How could anybody hate him?’ Sally said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
‘He makes a mess of the house,’ the man said. ‘Usually in a place she’s just cleaned. Pietro, I think you have an apology to make.’
The child nodded, took a deep breath and faced her, with his arm protectively around Toby. ‘We’re sorry for what happened, signorina.’
‘It’s all right. Sometimes accidents just happen, one after another.’ She leaned down to the dog. ‘As long as Toby isn’t hurt.’
As if to answer Toby licked her face. In response, she bumped her nose against his. Pietro giggled in delight. Toby promptly licked her again, then turned to Charlie, who received his attention with pleasure.
‘While they’re occupied, allow me to buy you a coffee,’ the man said. ‘Then I will escort you back to your hotel. And of course I will pay for your clothes to be cleaned.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘At the Billioni Hotel.’
‘Ah, yes.’
‘Actually I think I saw you there last night. You were calling someone an idiot. Are you the manager?’
‘I’m the owner.’
‘Oh—er—well, it’s a very nice hotel.’
‘But it still needs some work. You don’t have to be tactful.’ He offered his hand. ‘My name is Damiano Ferrone.’
‘I’m Sally Franklin.’ They shook hands cordially.
‘And the young man with you? Your husband?’
‘Goodness no. He’s barely grown up. That’s Charlie, my brother.’
‘And you are here on holiday together?’
‘Yes, we decided to explore the world a little. I know most people don’t take holidays in January—’
‘But Venice is beautiful all the year round. We get many visitors in winter. But perhaps you regret the rain.’
His glance indicated the damp paw marks on her jacket.
‘I don’t regret anything that lets me meet such a gorgeous dog,’ she said. ‘I just love them.’
‘So I saw. You immediately became my son’s favourite person.’
They laughed together. It was remarkable, she thought, how his face, though formed in stern lines, softened when he spoke of the child.
‘Does his mother mind the muddy paw marks?’ she asked.
‘He has no mother. My first wife died giving birth to him nine years ago. He used to have a stepmother but she left us.’
‘Doesn’t she ever come back to see him?’
‘Never.’
‘Does he mind? I mean—were they close?’
‘Not really, but she was the only mother he’d ever known, so he clung to her. But when our marriage ended—’
A shriek of laughter interrupted them and made them turn to where the others were playing.
‘I remember when I had a dog just like that,’ she mused. ‘Full of vim and wanting to be the centre of attention all the time.’
‘He belonged to Pietro’s real mother. He’s the only legacy he has of her.’
‘So of course he treasures him. Yes, over here!’ She raised her voice as Toby raced back towards her, hurling himself once more into her arms while Pietro jumped up and down with delight. Damiano smiled fondly at the sight of his child’s happiness.
‘I think Toby is trying to tell you something,’ he observed.
‘Well, he certainly seems to like me,’ she ventured.
‘Enough to invite you to our house this evening for dinner—as a way of apologising for ruining your clothes. Please say you’ll come.’
Pietro looked up into her face, nodding eagerly, and she guessed he was the one Damiano was trying to please.
‘We’d love to come,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t we, Charlie?’
‘Sure, fine.’
‘I’ll just go back to the hotel and change,’ she said.
‘There’s no need,’ Damiano declared.
‘But look at the mess Toby’s left me in,’ she said, comically indicating the paw marks. She put her face close to the dog’s. ‘This is all your fault.’
‘He’s very sorry,’ Pietro said, ‘and he’ll make it up to you at dinner. But you must come with us now.’ He nudged Toby. ‘Tell her she’s got to come now.’
‘Wuff!’
‘Well, if Toby commands, I can’t refuse.’ She laughed.
It was the right answer. Both Pietro and his father beamed. And Sally found herself overtaken by a sense of exhilaration, caused by the sheer unexpectedness of the situation. For someone who spent her life analysing figures and making careful plans there was strange delight in being swept away without warning. When Damiano offered her his arm she took it with pleasure.
From St Mark’s Piazza it was a short journey to the water, where they found a taxi that took them along the Grand Canal.
‘Is your home far?’ she asked.
‘You can see it now.’
She gaped at the sight of the building that they were nearing. Knowing he was rich enough to own a hotel, she’d expected a substantial home, but this was huge and elaborate.
‘There?’ She gasped. ‘But it looks like a palace.’
‘It’s a hotel.’
‘Another one of yours?’
‘Yes, I own it. I live in the building next door.’
His home was smaller than the hotel but still impressive, with a broad stairway leading up from the great hall to the upper floors, where tall, decorative windows let in the light.
Bustling towards them was the woman who’d been in St Mark’s.
‘You’ve met Nora,’ he said. ‘She runs the house and she’ll show you around.’
Sally thought she detected a puzzled look in the housekeeper’s eyes, after the way they had met. But she greeted her cordially and showed her to a room on the ground floor.
‘You can be comfortable here until dinner is served,’ she said. ‘There is a bathroom next door.’
The room was magnificent, with furniture that looked antique and expensive. On one wall was a large picture of a woman luxuriously dressed in eighteenth-century clothing. Gold hung around her neck, and much care had clearly been lavished on her appearance.
Probably to impress the man who had paid for it, Sally thought.
‘Who is that?’ she asked Nora.
‘That was the Duchess Araminta Leonese, three hundred years ago,’ Nora said with a smile. ‘She was a very notable woman. The duke married her in the face of much opposition. His family wanted him to marry an aristocrat, but he said it had to be her and nobody else.’
‘Wasn’t she an actress?’ Charlie said.
‘She was a lady of the stage. And in those days—’
‘In those days that was a big scandal,’ Sally mused.
‘Oh, yes. Very big,’ Nora agreed.
As she turned to leave Charlie murmured to her, ‘I could murder a drink.’
‘Follow me, signore.’
They departed together.
On the wall was a mirror where Sally could study her appearance. Her jacket was a mess. The clothes beneath it were undamaged but they were plain and frugal, and she felt self-conscious at how they would look in these wealthy surroundings. But then she thrust the thought aside. Everything was happening out of her control, and it was pointless to worry about it.
She went to the window, which had a small balcony overlooking a narrow canal where she could see a gondola making its way along the water. Smiling, she turned back into the room.
Then she froze at the sight that met her eyes.
The figure standing there was small but alarming. It had a monstrous head. Horns reared up from the forehead, the eyes were huge and threatening, and the great nose was more like a beak. This terrifying creature had crept into the room unnoticed, and now stood there in a silent, deadly challenge.
At last it spoke.
‘It’s only me,’ said Pietro.
Copyright © 2014 by Lucy Gordon
ISBN-13: 9781460336991
THE REBEL AND THE HEIRESS
Copyright © 2014 by Michelle Douglas
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
Wedded in Venice…
Starting again is meant to be the purpose of Sally Franklin’s trip to Venice. Not finding herself spontaneously married to enigmatically handsome Damiano Ferrone! Maybe it was the magic of Venice or simply Damiano’s captivating good looks that made his proposal impossible to resist!
Damiano needs the perfect mother for his little boy—and a marriage of the utmost convenience. But before long Damiano is seeing Sally in a whole new light and realizing he’s got a lot more than he bargained for…a wife for real!
“Look at me,” Damiano whispered.
She did so, and found his lips close to her own.
“Help me, Sally. Say you agree,” he said softly, his breath whispering against her face.
“But—”
“Say it. For my son’s sake.”
“All right. I agree.”
Slowly Damiano dropped his head until his mouth brushed hers. She held herself steady, waiting for it to be over, feeling the tremors go through her, fighting every instinct that urged her to press against him and tempt him on—and on….
His lips parted from hers, but she could still feel the warmth of his breath. She tried to force her mind to take control. Damiano’s kiss had a power over her that she must fight. But her flesh challenged her, telling her mind that thoughts were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the sweetness flooding through her, destroying the common sense that had always ruled her life.
His eyes told her that he’d felt her tremble in his arms and knew his power over her. Now nothing could ever be the same. He would force on her a kiss of passion that would leave her no choice. She braced herself—part fearful, part furious, part craving.
She ought to leave Venice, she thought. She couldn’t bear to hurt the child, but it was better for him not to indulge in groundless hopes. But another voice spoke within her, urging her to marry Damiano and put her whole heart and soul into winning his love.
Dear Reader,
A convenient wedding is rarely a matter of convenience alone. Secretly both bride and groom are hoping for something more. Sally, my heroine, is haunted by many thoughts and dreams as she walks down the aisle in Venice, to marry
according to the traditions of the city.
Venice has been a special place to me ever since the day I took a holiday there, met a charming Venetian man and became engaged to him in two days. Many years later we are still happily married. I learned then that I was a different person from the one I’d thought. I’d seen myself as cautious, reserved—the last person to fall in love at first sight and make an impulsive marriage. Yet in that magical city my new self took over.
Sally also discovers in Venice that she has several different selves, which lead her to the love that was always fated for her. Just as mine was fated for me.
Suddenly I—an only child—found myself a member of a large family who opened their arms to me with warmth and generosity. I was particularly drawn to Carla, my husband’s sister, who said to me a year ago, “When are you going to set another book in Venice? It’s been too long since your last one.”
That very evening I was working out the plot and looking forward to showing the book to Carla, who’d inspired it. Sadly, I was never able to do so. As I was finishing the last chapter the news came of her death.
All I can do now is dedicate the book to her, which I’m glad to do. It’s hers, and it always will be.
Lucy
NOT JUST A CONVENIENT MARRIAGE
Lucy Gordon
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, in which romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.
Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.
Recent books by Lucy Gordon:
