The Italian Count s Defiant Bride

by Catherine George

  ‘Yes,’ said Alicia, glad Meg couldn’t see her face. ‘Things began to change for me the moment I heard Francesco had gone to Cardiff straight away to look for me.’ That, at least, was the gospel truth. ‘And apparently he still has feelings for me.’ That was true, too, though Alicia wasn’t perfectly sure what the feelings were.

  Meg, as usual, gave a string of instructions to Alicia about being careful, passed on a message to Francesco to take great care of her, then ended the phone call so she could ring Hay and give her parents the news, by which time Francesco had returned.

  ‘What did Megan say?’

  ‘She was astounded.’ Alicia pulled a face. ‘But she sent you her regards, and told you to take care of me.’

  ‘I will take great pleasure in that,’ he said gravely, and held out his hand.

  This time Alicia took it without hesitation, glad of its warm clasp as they descended the sweep of the stairs to the hall below.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE evening with Zia Luisa and Bianca was a success, not least because the small room where they ate dinner was so much more comfortable and intimate than the great sala da pranzo, and Alicia enjoyed Pina’s meal far more than any dinner eaten at the castello in the past.

  ‘After tonight, Alicia, you must order what you like to eat,’ said the handsome old lady, her eyes twinkling. ‘But tonight Pina has indulged me with my favourite dolce. Have you had zuccotto before, cara?’

  ‘I don’t think so. What is it?’

  ‘A sponge cake filled with nuts, chocolate and cream,’ said Bianca, eyes shining at the prospect.

  Francesco smiled wryly. ‘My mother refused to let Pina serve it.’ ‘Sophia said it was bad for many things, including the figure,’ said Luisa, and beamed. ‘But at my age who cares if I am fat? And you, Alicia, have no worry about such things.’

  ‘She is perfect the way she is,’ agreed Francesco, smiling at Alicia as the women nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

  ‘How is your charming mother, Alicia?’ asked Bianca.

  Both women listened with pleasure to news of Bronwen’s marriage, and also Megan’s.

  ‘Your young friend was such a pretty bridesmaid at your wedding,’ said Luisa. ‘And Bronwen was much admired, Alicia. She looked much too young to be your mother.’

  ‘She still does. My stepfather says we look like sisters.’ Alicia looked up with a smile as Giacomo came in to put the zuccotto in front of her. ‘Grazie, Giacomo.’ She asked him to tell Pina that the veal had been superb, then sliced the cake for him to serve.

  When the meal was over Luisa declined coffee, and Bianca rose at once to accompany her upstairs.

  ‘This has been a delightful evening, Alicia,’ said the old lady. ‘It is so good to have you back again. Buona notte, cara.’

  When they were alone Francesco suggested they go outside to drink their coffee. ‘It is a beautiful night. You would like this?’

  ‘I certainly would.’ She grinned at him as they went out onto the dimly lit loggia. ‘I need time to recover from the zuccotto.’

  He laughed. ‘You liked it?’

  ‘It was so delicious, only the risk of another nightmare kept me from devouring another plateful.’ But Alicia shot him a troubled look as she filled the coffee cups.

  ‘What is wrong?’ asked Francesco. He took the chair next to her and pulled it close.

  ‘I feel such a terrible fraud. Don’t you think we should tell Zia and Bianca the truth?’

  Francesco shook his head decisively. ‘It is best we do not. Leave the truth until it is unavoidable, carina—by which time it may be different.’

  Alicia was afraid to ask what he meant. Did he really want her to come back? And if he did, how would she feel about it? Going back was rarely successful, whatever the situation. Besides, she was a different person now from the schoolgirl who’d fantasised over the photograph of Francesco da Luca. She studied him, trying to be objective as her eyes moved over the aquiline da Luca profile, the heavy, waving hair, and the muscular grace of his relaxed body. Combined with the effortless charm that only occasionally revealed the steel behind it, Francesco da Luca was a very impressive package. And legally he was still her husband.

  He turned towards her suddenly, startling her. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’

  ‘I was just thinking back to the day we met.’ Not quite true, but it would do.

  ‘Good thoughts?’

  ‘Yes. You know, Francesco, I think you look even better now than you did then.’

  His eyes widened. ‘Grazie.’

  ‘Prego.’

  Francesco smiled slowly. ‘I can return the compliment, Alicia. You were irresistible in your innocence at eighteen. But now you are an experienced woman, you are so seducente you are even more irresistible.’

  Not sure what seducente meant—though she had a good idea—Alicia thanked him politely. ‘But I’m not sure I care for “experienced” as an adjective.’

  He shrugged. ‘Forgive me if it is not the right word—you know I have trouble with my English.’

  ‘I know nothing of the kind!’

  Francesco laughed. ‘If only you were fluent in Italian I could express myself as I really wish.’

  A prospect so fraught with risk Alicia firmly changed the subject. ‘Megan and Rhys have bought a house,’ she informed him.

  ‘In Cardiff?’

  She nodded. ‘Rhys is working at the University Hospital there, and they’ve found a house in the same area.’

  ‘You are still as close as ever to Megan?’

  ‘Oh yes. The best friend I could ever have.’ Alicia smiled wryly. ‘She was worried that I’d be furious because she’d told you how to find me.’

  ‘And were you?’

  ‘I could never be furious with Meg.’

  ‘Only with me.’

  She met his eyes. ‘I’m not any more.’

  He smiled, with a power that set her heart racing. ‘Bene. I am glad.’ He sobered, eyeing her closely. ‘Are you tired, carina?’

  ‘I am rather,’ she admitted, and pulled a face. ‘And tomorrow I have to face your solicitor.’

  Francesco rose to his feet, holding out his hand. ‘You will not face him alone. I shall be close by your side. Come.’

  Alicia got up and meekly took the hand he offered. Just in case Giacomo or someone saw them as they went upstairs, she told herself. When they reached their rooms she found that a tray had been left by the bed, with glasses and two insulated jugs.

  ‘I arranged for fruit juice and mineral water,’ explained Francesco as he closed the door. ‘If you wake in distress again you will need a drink.’

  She turned to look at him. ‘You’re very thoughtful.’

  He moved closer. ‘If I make life here as comfortable and pleasant for you as possible, Alicia, perhaps you will stay longer.’

  ‘I have only two weeks’ holiday.’

  ‘I know this,’ he said darkly. ‘You remind me so often. Sleep well, Alicia,’ he added, and turned to the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, surprised by a sudden, strong objection to being left alone.

  ‘To my study, to work for a while,’ he said curtly. ‘Perche?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘I will try not to disturb you when I return.’

  ‘Must you work tonight?’

  Francesco closed his eyes for an instant. ‘Yes,’ he said tightly. ‘I must.’ He strode out of the room, leaving her staring, offended, at the closed door.

  Alicia stalked angrily into the bathroom to get ready for the night. Nothing had changed, then. It was just the same as all those years ago, when she’d pleaded with him to spend time with her instead of working so hard. She frowned at her reflection as the penny finally dropped. Last time he’d shut himself up with his work because he’d wanted to make love to her. And in those days they’d slept in different rooms—different parts of the castello, even. She let the breath out very slowly. Was that why he’d flung
out of the room? When she’d agreed to come back to Montedaluca he’d known only too well that she’d refuse if there was any mention of sharing a bedroom. But there was a very logical reason for it now—to convince everyone at the castello, and Gareth at home, that she was truly reconciled with Francesco. The fact that Gareth didn’t know this yet was irrelevant. He would soon hear the glad news via Meg. And in the meantime there was the night to get through, with Francesco sleeping only yards away in the adjoining room.

  Wishing she’d brought a more conventional nightgown, Alicia got into camisole and briefs, wrapped herself in her dressing gown, and was halfway through her cleansing and toning drill when the great big flaw in their plan suddenly hit her smack between the eyes.

  Down below, on the loggia, Francesco was morosely contemplating the same flaw. He had been aware of it all along. So far Alicia, hopefully, had not. If at the end of the two weeks she went home again and back to her job, it would be impossible to convince her family that she was truly reconciled with her husband. At the thought of massive Gareth Davies forcing himself on Alicia, Francesco saw red, and got up to pace like a restless panther. From the moment he’d first set eyes on her again he’d known he could never let her divorce him. One look had been enough to bring all the old feelings rushing back. Now, after only a day or two spent in her company, they were stronger than ever. His fists clenched. No man was going to take her from him again, least of all Gareth Davies.

  But in a way, he reminded himself, he should be grateful to the man for frightening Alicia with his unwanted lust. Now she was back where she belonged at last, here at the castello. But not locked up against her will, as feared by the hot-headed Gareth. Francesco threw back his head to stare up at the stars. Now he must do everything in his power to persuade Alicia to stay. He wanted her here with him in the castello, in his bed and in his life, to make babies with her—not just da Luca heirs, as she had accused, but living tokens of their love.

  Because, no matter how much she might try to deny it, he was sure that Alicia loved him still. Perhaps not in the trusting, innocent way as when she was young. He had changed that with a few brutal words that had cost him his bride. So, now he must convince her that he would never hurt her again. Which was not easy when he wanted her so much. He breathed in deeply, hoping fervently that she was asleep by now so he could shut himself in his dressing room away from temptation. At the mere thought of the word, desire for her rushed through him like a forest fire. How in God’s name was he going to curb that desire without frightening her away again? Of course, he thought with sharp regret, she was no longer an innocent, untried teenager. There had been one lover he knew of, and probably more that he did not. But Alicia, understandably, was wary of close relationships. Therefore he must take great care not to frighten her away from the one he longed to hold her to for the rest of her life.

  When Francesco very quietly opened his bedroom door his heart sank. The room was not in darkness and Alicia was not sleeping. She was sitting up in bed, reading, wearing something pink and clinging which left her shoulders bare. All that glorious hair was cascading loose, and the sprinkling of freckles shone, unconcealed, along her cheekbones.

  ‘Hi,’ said Alicia, smiling at him. ‘Have you finished your work?’

  Francesco gave up. A man could stand only so much. ‘I had no work so demanding it had to be done tonight.’ He moved to the end of the bed, looking down at her. ‘I removed myself from temptation.’

  So she’d been right. ‘How noble of you, Francesco.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed morosely. ‘I am amazed by such nobility.’

  She smiled sweetly to hide her triumph. ‘Is it a while since you’ve made any trips to Rome?’

  He looked blank for a moment, then his eyes lit with a familiar blue gleam. ‘It is some time since I sought feminine company in Rome, yes. Even so, Alicia, I will not take advantage of our situation.’ His eyes smouldered. ‘But it is very hard for me to share a room and not want to make love to an alluring, desirable woman who, as you say in English, is my lawful wedded wife.’

  The words wiped the smile off Alicia’s face. ‘Then I’ll say goodnight and discuss the flaw in our plan in the morning.’

  ‘I think I can survive a talk without falling on you with ravening lust,’ he assured her suavely.

  ‘Excellent.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘In that case, have you any suggestions about what happens when I go back home to resume my normal life? About convincing Gareth?’

  ‘You must tell him that I have agreed to allow—’

  ‘Allow?’

  Francesco rolled his eyes. ‘Mi dispiace, I start again. You must convince him that we plan to see each other often while a replacement is found for you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Won’t wash. That could happen very quickly.’

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes holding hers. ‘So, tell him that you can never love him in the way he wants because you still love me.’

  ‘Not what Gareth wants to hear!’ Alicia tried to edge away from Francesco’s warmth, but her body refused to cooperate.

  His voice roughened. ‘Promise that you will take care never to be alone with him, tesoro.’

  Alicia’s heart gave a thud. She could take all the caras and carinas in her stride, but tesoro was the endearment Francesco had used only in private. ‘What if he comes to see me again?’

  ‘You have the interfono on your door. Do not let him in.’

  ‘I can’t just turn him away, Francesco! I’m very fond of him. He’s the nearest thing to a brother I’ve ever had.’

  ‘I know this, and I understand,’ he told her, with such sympathy Alicia wanted to throw herself in his arms and cry her eyes out against his chest. ‘But he must learn that he cannot have you in the way he desires.’

  Nor can any other man, he thought grimly. Even if you will not admit it, Alicia da Luca, you are mine. He got up and stood looking down at her. ‘I will spend a little time in the bathroom then leave you in peace to sleep.’

  Alicia heaved a sigh. ‘All right.’ She gave him a wry little smile. ‘This is all so strange, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not for me,’ he said over his shoulder, and closed the bathroom door behind him.

  Alicia lay back against the pillows, wishing Francesco had kept his distance instead of stirring up her senses with that unique scent of his, which had more to do with his pheromones than the Aqua di Parma he still used. It was a shock to find she wanted him now as much—more—as she ever had. Hey, he’s still the same man who trampled on your delicate young illusions, she reminded herself. But the weak shot at sarcasm was no use. Why, oh why, did she have to be a one-man woman? She’d done her level best to fall in love with other men. Lord knew, she met enough of them in her job. But it was obvious, now, that the years of grief and resentment over Francesco had obscured the fact that she’d never stopped loving him. Once she’d been forced to admit that he wasn’t quite the black-hearted villain she’d painted him, her heart made it clear that it still belonged to him. And always had.

  The tell-tale heart leapt as Francesco emerged from the bathroom bare-chested, towelling his hair as he made for his dressing room. ‘I regret to be so long. I needed a cold shower,’ he said tersely. ‘Goodnight, Alicia.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ she said forlornly, her eyes following him as he made for the door on the far side of the room. He left it open a crack, and she watched until his light went out then returned to her book. But after reading the same page several times without making sense of it she closed the book, turned out the lamp and with a sigh curled up in the big bed.

  Alicia surfaced to darkness, sobbing, tears streaming down her face. But before she was even fully awake she was cradled against the haven of a warm, bare chest as Francesco soothed her with a stream of liquid Italian that comforted her even though she understood only half of it.

  ‘Sorry I woke you,’ she said thickly at last. ‘I need a tissue. There’s a box on the table.’


  Francesco reached to switch on the lamp, and armed with a handful of tissues mopped her face gently. ‘You had the nightmare again, tesoro?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not about Gareth. This was the old, bad dream I used to have.’

  ‘About me?’ His arms tightened as she nodded. ‘What happens in this bad dream?’

  ‘A replay of the scene in Paris.’ Alicia blew her nose prosaically. ‘I haven’t had it for years.’ She looked up at him in apology, her heart contracting when she saw that his eyes were wet.

  ‘Your sobs hurt my heart,’ he said, and kissed her hair. ‘I will pour you a drink, piccola.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, willing the floodgates to stay shut.

  Francesco slid off the bed and leaned over her to stack the pillows against the headboard. ‘Allora, you may sit up to drink some fruit juice, but then you must try to sleep.’

  She heaved herself upright and wriggled until she was comfortable. ‘At least you don’t have to change the sheets tonight.’

  ‘Davverro.’ Francesco handed her the drink, eyeing her questioningly. ‘If it is years since you dreamed this, why again tonight, Alicia?’

  ‘Who knows?’ she muttered, eyeing him over the rim of the glass. This time he hadn’t bothered with a dressing gown, and wore white boxers, which confirmed that he still possessed the physique that had made him such a good rugby player. Broad shoulders and flat stomach tapered into slim hips and the muscular, long legs that had given him the necessary speed for a successful winger.

  He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. ‘Why do you look at me like that?’

  ‘I was just thinking what good shape you’re in. What do you do for exercise these days?’

  ‘I train at the local rugby club, which is a pet project of mine. I do some coaching there, and if the team has problems with injuries I even play in the odd game. I also ski when I can.’ He took her empty glass. ‘Now, sleep again.’ He switched off the lamp, then walked to the windows and drew back the curtains to let moonlight flood the room. ‘Is that better, Alicia?’