by Annie West
An afternoon of pleasure, rediscovering her feminine delights beckoned. He quickened his pace.
Then the misty soft smile disappeared, and alarm filled her eyes. Her mouth tightened and she jerked as if trying to wriggle out of his hold.
The heat in his belly fizzed out as quickly as it had ignited. He slammed to a stop. No other woman had ever looked at him in such horror.
‘What are you doing?’ It was an accusatory gasp. Automatically Alessandro lifted his chin, unaccustomed to such a tone.
‘Carrying you to bed. You need rest.’
If anything her tension increased. He felt her stiffen. Her eyes blazed.
‘No! I need to see to Leo. He—’
‘Our son—’ Alessandro paused, savouring the words ‘—is being looked after by a very capable and pleasant carer.’ Carys opened her mouth, to object no doubt. He overrode her. ‘In the longer term we will look for a more permanent carer to help with him, but for now be assured he’s in safe hands.’
She drew in a deep breath and Alessandro wished he weren’t so aware of the soft inviting press of her breast against his chest. It was the most refined torment.
‘I can walk from here.’
‘But we’re almost there.’ He stepped forward again, this time towards her guest bedroom. Still he felt her tension. She was stiff as a board, rigid with…anxiety? Distress?
Concern twisted in his belly, a flare of regret for what had happened this afternoon.
‘I’m sorry you weren’t warned it would be Carlotta coming to discuss your wedding gown today.’ He said it slowly, unused to apologising. He’d always prided himself on behaving honourably. ‘I only just found out myself.’
It had been Livia’s little surprise to confront Carys with the woman she believed had been her rival.
Even now Alessandro found it hard to believe Livia had done anything so crass. He mightn’t trust Carys, might have been betrayed by her, but his behaviour and his family’s must always be above reproach.
From now on Alessandro would have his personal staff oversee all the wedding arrangements. His stepmother could attend and kiss the bride, but he no longer trusted her with anything more.
‘It’s all right,’ Carys said quickly. ‘We had a…useful discussion.’ For a moment her gaze clung to his, then she turned her head abruptly, as if dismissing him.
Clearly she didn’t accept his apology.
Alessandro registered a curious feeling of emptiness, as if something inside his chest shrivelled. An instant later he put the nonsensical notion from his mind. Resentment stirred at having his word doubted.
‘She will do an excellent job,’ he said tersely. ‘Carlotta is one of Italy’s most talented new designers.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ his bride-to-be said in a hollow voice. ‘Her ideas are very clever.’
She sounded as enthusiastic as a woman being measured for her shroud. The idea slashed at his pride.
And this the woman he’d wanted to take to his room and ravish! It shamed him that even now he craved her.
He pushed open her bedroom door and quickly lowered her to the bed, stepping back as if her very touch contaminated.
Separate rooms until after the wedding were preferable after all. Carys needed time to accustom herself to marriage. And he needed space to master these unwanted feelings.
‘I’ll leave you now to rest.’
Alessandro spun round without waiting for a response and strode from the room.
He didn’t see the longing or the anguish in her eyes as she watched him go.
CHAPTER TEN
CARYS drew a deep breath and paused before stepping into the church. The clamour of photographers and sightseers unsettled her, another reminder that she was marrying one of Italy’s richest, most eligible men.
Only the presence of Alessandro’s security staff kept the eager throng back.
She wished now she’d accepted Alessandro’s suggestion that one of his cousins escort her down the aisle.
Foolishly she’d kept alive the faint hope her father would come to give her away. It wasn’t a romantic match, but this marriage was for keeps. For Leo’s sake. And because once wed she knew Alessandro would never relinquish his wife.
This ceremony would change her life for ever.
Her lips tightened as she smoothed shaky fingers over rich silk skirts. Even after all these years the pain of her dad’s rebuff was as strong as ever.
All those missed school plays and speech days where her performances and athletic awards failed to measure up to parental expectations of academic brilliance. She should have realised he wouldn’t come, just as her siblings had perfectly sound reasons for not attending, even with Alessandro’s offer of free travel. They’d been too busy, promising to visit sometime in the future when life was less hectic.
‘Are you ready, signorina?’ Bruno’s familiar husky voice interrupted her reverie. ‘Is anything wrong?’
Everything!
She was marrying the man she’d once adored. Not for love, but in a bloodless marriage to keep her son. She had no friends here to support her. She was out of her depth, marrying into an aristocratic world she’d never fit into.
Worst of all, she suspected that despite all that had gone before, she might still…care for Alessandro.
Being with him had awoken so many memories.
More, Carlotta’s news that he’d never betrayed Carys, hadn’t been unfaithful, had opened the floodgates to emotions she thought she’d eradicated.
He might not love her, but he was essentially the same man she’d fallen for years ago. More impatient, more ruthless, yet just as charismatic and intriguing. And not the lying cheat she’d believed when she’d left him.
Guilt plagued her that she’d believed the worst of him. Her own insecurities had made her too ready to doubt.
Regret gave way to longing, and she found herself wishing this marriage was for real. For love, not expediency.
No! Alessandro wasn’t looking for love.
And nor was she.
‘Signorina?’ Bruno stepped close, his tone concerned.
‘Sorry, Bruno.’ Carys directed a wobbly smile at the bodyguard. ‘I’m just…gathering myself. It’s a little overwhelming.’
‘It will be all right, signorina. You’ll see. The conte will take care of you.’
As he’d taken care of all the wedding arrangements, with a ruthless efficiency that brooked no delay. She was merely an item to be checked off his list.
Acquired: one wife, ditto mother for my son.
Carys repressed a hysterical giggle and lifted her bouquet. The rich scent of orange blossom filled her nostrils, and she swayed, stupidly unsettled by the evocative perfume.
‘So he will, Bruno. Thank you.’
She was stronger than this. She didn’t do self-pity.
This was for Leo. She had to focus on that. Pushing back her shoulders, she stepped through the door Bruno held open.
Music swelled, the sound of murmuring voices faded, and she was aware of a sea of faces turned towards her. She let her gaze trawl the congregation rather than look down the aisle to where Alessandro stood, waiting to make her his wife.
Pain constricted her chest and she faltered, but curious stares prompted her to move on. They were all strangers, friends of Alessandro. No doubt assessing the bride to see if she lived up to expectations.
Carys lifted her chin, knowing at least she was dressed the part. Carlotta had done a superb job creating a stylish gown that made Carys look feminine and almost elegant.
In grey silk so pale it almost passed for cream, the dress was closely fitted from neck to hips, turning her curves into an almost hourglass figure. From there it flared into lush folds and a rippling train studded with azure beads like hundreds of flashing stars. Long, fitted sleeves and a high collar gave it a severe, almost medieval style, belied by the deep, slit neckline, embroidered with azure sapphires.
The effect was austere yet sumptuou
s. It was the most flattering, gorgeous thing Carys had ever owned.
She heard whispers as she passed, saw the envy in female eyes, and a tiny thrill of pleasure skimmed her spine.
Now she noticed smiles, one or two familiar faces. And suddenly, there were Alessandro’s three female cousins, whom she’d met only two days ago. Accompanied by their husbands and their brood of handsome children. All smiled broadly, nodding encouragement.
They’d chosen pews on the bride’s side of the church. Warmth invaded her chilled body at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. It made her feel she wasn’t quite so alone.
Then came Carlotta, beaming and gorgeous in ruby red, delight in her dark eyes. And Leo, clapping excitedly and calling to her from his carer’s arms. Carys leaned over and gave him a quick cuddle, gaining strength from the flood of love that rose within her.
The buzz of whispered conversation began again and she straightened, feeling the curious stares stabbing into her back. She turned and there was Livia, her fixed smile cool.
This was the woman who’d tried to keep Alessandro and Carys apart. How would she react if she knew that, despite this charade, they were virtually strangers? That the ceremony was a cruel parody of the dreams Carys had once cherished?
Momentary pleasure faded as reality slammed into Carys. It obliterated her tentative poise and transfixed her with a knife-blade of regret through the chest.
Finally she couldn’t ignore any longer the tall man looming before her. Impatience radiated from every superbly tailored inch.
Her fingers clenched on the bouquet as she fought the impulse to run pell-mell back up the aisle and away to freedom. Blood rushed in her ears and her body tensed for flight.
Then he extended one powerful arm, his hand outstretched towards her. She felt his regard like a lick of flame on her face and her body. Her skin prickled in response.
There was no escape. He sucked the air from her lungs and shattered the remnants of her defiant courage.
Like an automaton she stepped forward, letting Alessandro capture her hand. Feeling in that moment the inevitable thrill of energy his touch always evoked.
Yet even that couldn’t thaw the chill around her heart.
If only they were marrying for any other reason. If this was about caring instead of custody.
Desolation swept her. If only Alessandro remembered the past, remembered even a little of what they’d shared. But he didn’t. Probably never would. Only she recalled the glory as well as the pain, the companionship and the ecstasy and the sense of belonging that had made their relationship unique.
What good were such memories when she couldn’t share them? They might as well be figments of her imagination, torturing rather than comforting. She’d never again experience that closeness with the man she was about to marry.
‘Carys.’ The word feathered across her nerves like the stroke of his hand. His sexy accent invested the name with undercurrents that made her tremble. He turned her towards him and inevitably her eyes lifted to his face.
Her breath caught in astonishment as she met his deep green gaze. Its intensity scorched.
She tried to draw breath, but the incendiary flare in his eyes arrested her. Instead her breathing shallowed, became rapid and unsteady. Her knees trembled and tattered hope rose at what she read in his face.
Alessandro’s expression almost made her believe…
The priest spoke and instantly, like a curtain descending to hide a stage, Alessandro’s face became blank, wiped of all expression. No heat, no vibrancy, no emotion.
Had she imagined it? Wanted so much to believe he felt something, anything for her that she’d invented that look of fixation and wonder?
Looking now into shadowed dark eyes, Carys felt that tiny seed of hope shrivel in her breast.
The past was the past. What they’d once shared was dead.
In its place she gave herself in a farce of marriage.
Carys tasted the ashes of old dreams on her tongue as she turned to face the priest. Instinct screamed that she was making a terrible, terrible mistake.
But, for the sake of her son, she’d go through with it.
Hours later, drooping with fatigue, face stiff from pinning on a smile, Carys was too weary to object when Alessandro swept her off her feet and into his arms in front of their guests.
‘There’s no need for pantomime,’ she whispered, attempting to ignore the insidious melting sensation as his arms closed round her. ‘My legs work perfectly.’
‘No pantomime, wife,’ he murmured as he carried her from the enormous marquee and across the lawn to the sound of applause. ‘In Italy men carry their brides across the threshold.’
Carys eyed the hundred metres between them and the villa and kept her lips closed. If Alessandro wanted to indulge in a show of machismo, she had little chance of dissuading him. She’d just have to pretend being held in his arms didn’t evoke a cascade of tingling awareness she couldn’t control.
She stiffened in his hold.
‘You could try smiling,’ he said under his breath. ‘People expect a bride to look happy.’
Carys bared her teeth in what she guessed was more of a grimace than a smile of joy. The strain of acting the happy bride had taken its toll, shredding her frayed nerves.
‘I’m a hotel management trainee, not an actress.’
Not for anything would she let him guess how deeply his embrace affected her. How that terrible gnawing sensation ate once more at her belly, and how her arms ached with the effort not to lift them around his neck so she could sink against the broad cushion of his chest.
‘Little viper.’ There was no heat in the look he gave her. But there was…something.
Her heart raced faster.
‘You can put me down now. We’ve crossed the threshold.’
He didn’t answer, just made for the sweeping central staircase and climbed it with a speed that belied the burden he carried.
Dimly Carys was aware of more applause and laughter from the few staff gathered in the foyer.
But nothing could distract her from the look on Alessandro’s face. The determined set of his jaw and the hooded, unreadable expression in his eyes. He was so focused.
‘Alessandro?’
He didn’t answer as he reached the top of the staircase and plunged down a wide hallway.
‘My room is to the left.’ Was that her voice? That wisp of sound? Her hands clenched together so hard the pulse throbbed through her palms like a beaten drum. Her chest hollowed with an emotion that should have been trepidation.
Ahead wide double doors stood open. Alessandro strode through them then paused to kick them shut with a thud that reverberated right through her.
Slowly the sound died away to echoing silence. A silence taut with rising tension.
Still he held her.
She felt the rise and fall of his chest against her, surely more pronounced than when he’d climbed the stairs.
Did she imagine the shift of those long-fingered hands? The tightening of his embrace, drawing her more firmly against his powerful torso? Heat radiated from him, seeped into her flesh and bones, melting the tightness of her tensed muscles.
Craven, she turned her head, unable to meet his stare. Afraid he might see in her face traces of the crazy yearning that still plagued her. The yearning for him. No matter what she’d told herself, she’d never been able to obliterate it.
But she had to hide it.
Her breath hitched audibly as she saw the wide bed that took up one end of the vast room. Canopied in emerald green silk, perfectly centred between French doors that gave on to a balcony overlooking the lake, it took her breath away.
A long garland of roses was strung across the bed head, and rich velvety petals, like a shower of cream and blush and crimson, lay scattered across the sheets.
It looked like nothing so much as…
‘Our wedding bed.’ Alessandro’s deep voice was resonant with an inflection she could almost swe
ar was satisfaction.
Except she knew he had no desire for intimacy. No desire for her. This union was pragmatic, necessary. A legality.
Carys opened her mouth, but no words came. She drew a difficult breath, suddenly aware of how the tight silken bodice cupped her breasts and of the delicate scratch of her new bra’s hand-made lace against peaking nipples.
Hot embarrassment flooded her. And more heat that wasn’t embarrassment, creating an unsettling, pooling sensation way down low in her womb.
She shifted in his hold, praying he wouldn’t notice her traitorous body’s reaction to him.
‘Your cousins have been busy,’ she said in a scratchy, unfamiliar voice. Now she understood the presence of the other women in the house this morning, whispering and laughing over some secret as they made their way upstairs.
She felt the shrug of powerful shoulders. ‘Another tradition. It’s supposed to bring luck to a marriage. Blessings and, who knows, maybe even fertility.’
Carys wriggled, now desperate to escape. She couldn’t keep up this façade of composure. Not when she felt his heart thudding against her, the warm tickle of his breath in her hair and the heat of his hands cradling her.
He made her want things she shouldn’t. Things that could never be.
‘The union is already fertile. We have Leo. We don’t—’
Her words died as, instead of releasing her, Alessandro carried her to the bridal bed. A moment later she was sprawled across the mattress, the rich, sensual perfume of damask roses rising from the petals crushed beneath her.
Automatically she struggled against the encumbering long skirts and the veil dragging her down.
Then she looked up and froze. The expression of feral hunger in Alessandro’s face made her heart hammer in her chest. Adrenaline spiked her bloodstream.
She told herself it was from fear. But she didn’t believe it.
‘You wouldn’t condemn Leo to being an only child, would you?’
Alessandro looked down at the woman who was now incontrovertibly his and felt a satisfaction such as he’d never experienced.
