by Lynne Graham
At that precise moment, Roel released her from his weight and curved a strong arm round her to carry her over into a cooler patch in the bed. Tawny eyes framed by dense black lashes inspected her hectically flushed face. He dropped a kiss on her brow. ‘So…amazing virginal wife…is it possible that you are still almost a bride?’
Hilary paled and lowered her head. Of course he was now wondering if they were a newly married couple. If he had not been holding onto her, she would have taken refuge under the bed and refused to come out again. She was so ashamed of herself that she couldn’t look at him and even less did she want to examine her own behaviour. Had she gone clean crazy?
‘You’re very quiet…’ Roel remarked.
‘Gosh, I’m dying for a shower!’ Hilary exclaimed and practically threw herself out of the bed.
Escape having been the only thing on her mind, she was then aghast to appreciate that she was naked as the day she was born. Flopping down on her knees on the floor with more haste than grace, she scrabbled madly round the side of the bed to find her nightdress and put it on again with frantic hands. Decently covered again, cheeks fiery red, she endeavoured to stand up again and vacate the room in a more normal way.
Lounging back against the tumbled white pillows, Roel was frowning at her with complete incomprehension. ‘Che cosa hai?’ he asked incredulously. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Hilary forced a smile and aimed it in his general direction. ‘What the heck could be the matter?’ she fielded and, backing into her own bedroom, took to her heels the minute she knew she was out of view to lock herself into the adjoining bathroom.
What was Roel going to think of her when he recovered his memory? Fierce shame assailed her. He was going to think she was a pretty sad individual to have slept with him in such circumstances. Or was he more likely to recognise that only a truly besotted woman would have seized on the one chance she had had to get close to him? He would guess that she had fallen head over heels in love with him almost four years ago and still found him absolutely irresistible and he would think that she was totally pathetic. She cringed and died a thousand mental deaths at that threat.
In the bedroom next door the internal household phone buzzed and Roel answered it. Umberto informed him in an almost covert tone that a visitor had arrived.
‘Who?’ Roel queried even as he began to reach for his clothes.
The older man demonstrated a great reluctance to name the arrival but managed to get over the concept that that identity was a matter of immense necessary confidentiality.
Minutes later, Roel descended the stairs. ‘Why all the mystery?’ he asked his manservant, his tone dry in the extreme.
‘The lady is Celine Duroux.’
Roel’s strong facial bones clenched, for the name meant nothing to him and he was infuriated and frustrated by that reality.
‘Did I do wrong in allowing her into the house?’ Umberto quavered.
Rebelling against the galling sense of being at a loss, which his amnesia had induced, Roel refused to lower himself to the level of taking the older man into his confidence. He would very much have liked to know why his employee should believe that the woman might reasonably have been refused entrance to his home. But ferocious pride kept Roel silent.
He entered the rarely used rear reception room where Umberto had stashed the unexpected guest. A beautiful green-eyed brunette surged towards him. Almost six feet in height with perfect features and the chic of a fashion model, she threw herself into his arms exclaiming, ‘Have you any idea how frantic I’ve been? When you didn’t show up yesterday, I simply assumed you were too busy. But when I heard a rumour that there’d been an accident, I just had to come here!’
Disconcerted by the intimacy of her greeting, Roel set her back from him. His piercing dark eyes were glacier-cool with caution.
‘As you can see, your concern was unnecessary. I am in good health.’
Celine Duroux gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘Don’t be so cold with me,’ she complained.
‘Am I being cold?’ Roel was playing for time.
The brunette pouted and sent him a provocative look through her eyelashes. The calculated artificiality that seemed to accompany her every word and gesture grated on him.
‘OK…’ she sighed. ‘I know I shouldn’t have come here because you think your mistress should be ultra-ultra discreet. But it isn’t the nineteenth century any more.’
Not by so much as a flicker of expression did Roel reveal the shock she had just dealt him. A four-letter exclamation that was a curse and a word he never utilised lit up like neon inside his brain. Finally he understood what had rocked Umberto’s fabled nerves of steel. Celine Duroux was his mistress and sufficiently confident to visit his home even though she had to be aware that he was a married man.
Unhappily his mistress’s attitude said a lot about what had to have been his own attitude towards his wife. It crossed Roel’s mind that that four-letter word he had mentally applied to the situation might also be reasonably applied to his own character prior to the car crash. It did not take great genius to work out why his marriage appeared to have been under strain or why his wife had informed him that he paid her little attention: he was having an affair.
‘I still think that it would have been wiser if you had resisted the urge to call here,’ Roel countered. ‘As you have, however, it’s only fair to tell you that I believe our relationship has run its course and must now end.’
While Celine surveyed him in angry surprise, Roel concluded that speech with conventional regrets. He knew he did not sound convincing, but then his sole motivation at that point was to get Celine out of the house before Hilary was slapped in the face by the sight of her. He was not accustomed to finding himself in the wrong and he was furious at the revelation that his personal life was a mess. Celine had referred to his failure to show up for an appointment with her only yesterday. So, there was no doubt about it: he had been unfaithful to his wife. No wonder he had sensed so much tension in their relationship!
Did Hilary know about Celine? Of course she knew there was another woman! That had to be why their marriage had not been consummated. Had Hilary refused to sleep with him while he was still keeping a mistress? Doubtless warned by Dr Lerther not to give her husband any disturbing information, Hilary had told him nothing that might trouble him. Had it not been for her inability to hide her distress and confusion after they had shared a bed, he would undoubtedly have concluded that she was still a virgin only because they were newly married.
Instead he had been confronted by a far less pleasant explanation and guilt was a new experience for Roel. In fact as a Sabatino male he was used to holding the moral high ground. Sabatino men prided themselves on their sense of honour. It was their undeserving wives who had in recent generations proven their unworthiness with greed, promiscuity and moral weakness. But Hilary already seemed rather an improvement on the women chosen by his forebears, he acknowledged, his wide sensual mouth compressing.
He remained silent while Celine endeavoured to tease him into changing his mind before sharply accusing him of being cruelly insensitive. He said nothing. She would be richly compensated for the sudden termination of their arrangement. Without his encouragement the scene could not escalate and, outraged by her failure to have a discernible effect on him, Celine finally stalked past him and out into the hall.
Having gathered her courage to go off in search of Roel because she was worried that he had vanished from his bedroom when everything she had ever heard about men had led her to expect him to fall asleep after sex, Hilary was just in time to see Celine Duroux crossing the hall below. Hilary fell still on the upper landing and stared at the stranger with her tumbling mane of chestnut hair, dazzlingly lovely face and legs that looked as long to Hilary as her own entire body.
She watched the brunette depart and wondered who on earth she was. Had she been visiting Roel? Could she have been a girlfriend? For goodness’ sake, why had it not occ
urred to her that Roel might be involved with someone? Overtaken by anxiety and unease, she hurried back to her own room and went to bed. Her last waking thought before exhaustion claimed her was that if Roel had had another woman in his life, his aunt would scarcely have contacted her in London.
Ten minutes later, Roel gazed down at his sleeping wife. Her lashes were clogged together as though she had been crying. The conscience he had not known he had until that moment slashed at him. He was such a bastard. There was nothing new in his awareness of that fact. Even as a teenager he had not wasted much time or thought on women. He had never loved and he had always left them. But this woman was in a class of her own because he had married her and made her unhappy. Her bitten nails spoke for her and she deserved better. She had not mentioned Celine. That was sensible; he would not raise that issue either. Some things were better left buried. In any case, as of tonight his wife was very much his wife and they would proceed from that point…As Hilary wakened she stretched and the unfamiliar intimate ache between her thighs shot her back to full awareness faster than anything else could have done.
She looked at her watch in dismay for it was afternoon. Uneasy dreams had given her a disturbed night and she had slept late. Scrambling out of bed, she flung herself into the activity of getting up but all the time her mind was betraying her. She was remembering how Roel had looked while he was making love to her: his black hair damp, beautiful dark knowing eyes savage in their intensity. She quivered. Just thinking about Roel made her go weak at the knees. His outer shield of ruthless cool concealed a hot and passionate temperament.
But her biggest thrill had been the simple joy of being able to pretend that Roel was her guy. Ridiculous as it was, that had been her dream come true. The night before she had been overwhelmed by guilt at having slept with Roel. She had always been a very honest and straightforward person. Unfortunately circumstances had made it impossible for her to be honest with Roel. But now as she flung back the curtains on the clear bright light of day she decided that she had been over-tired and too hard on herself.
So…she had made love with Roel. While that had been a very big deal on her terms she doubted very much that he attached similar importance to the act of sex. He was very rich and very good-looking and whether she liked it or not he had to be very experienced with women. She might be his wife but he had had no memory of her whatsoever. Yet he had still taken her into his bed and had wasted no time in satisfying his high sex drive with her. To be frank, though, she had no complaints on that score. In fact, she reflected with guilty amusement, she might even be at risk of fawning on him like a willing slave girl in the hope that he would feel free to repeat what for her had been an extraordinarily pleasurable event.
Did she have the soul of a slut? No, she was still madly in love with him and she could not imagine ever sharing something so personal and intimate with anyone other than Roel. Why shouldn’t she build up a few harmless memories for the future? Long after he had again forgotten that she even existed, she would be living alone and sleeping alone because she would always prefer that to settling for second-best. And next to Roel, who was fiercely handsome and sexy, not to mention intelligent and strong, other men just shrank in stature. That was why she had never managed to fall back out of love again. A sound came from the bedroom and she turned away from the bathroom vanity with a lipstick still clutched in her hand.
‘Oh…it’s you,’ she muttered unsteadily when she saw her husband lodged in the doorway.
‘Dormiglione…sleepyhead,’ Roel said huskily.
Her attention glued to his lean powerful face and her heartbeat went haywire.
‘You don’t need this stuff.’ Roel bestowed a frowning look of reproof on the sizeable collection of cosmetics scattered on the counter. ‘Get rid of it.’
His domineering streak had come to her rescue. Turning back to the mirror, Hilary tilted back her head to paint her lips with a defiant hand. ‘I like make-up.’
‘But you must know that I don’t,’ Roel informed her in a tone that hinted at his amazement that she should be wielding a cosmetic wand in his vicinity.
‘Well, it’s good that you have a free choice not to wear make-up,’ she pointed out.
‘Don’t be facetious. I dislike anything false.’
Hilary glossed her lips with a raspberry tint and gave him a forgiving grin. ‘You’re an amazing guy…you’re just so controlling and spoilt—’
‘Spoilt?’ Roel repeated with an edge of disconcerted rawness.
‘Every place you go you’re surrounded by people you can order around. Servants, employees. I should think you’d get tired of being incredibly bossy but instead you seem to thrive on handing out orders—’
‘Expressing a preference is not handing out an order,’ Roel delivered icily.
‘When you express a preference, it’s the same thing as a command. But I’m not going to bin all my make-up just because you don’t approve of it. You’re wearing a pretty boring suit…are you about to throw it away because I think it’s deeply untrendy?’
‘I don’t do trendy at the bank,’ Roel told her drily.
‘But you’re not at the bank now,’ she heard herself say, her voice husky from lack of oxygen and the disturbing little bubble of excitement flaring up inside her.
Without warning Roel snaked out his hands and caught her to him. ‘You’re very…feisty—’
With every sense leaping with wicked anticipation, Hilary sparkled up at him. He dragged her even closer. Adoring his hard, muscular strength, she melted into his overwhelmingly masculine frame. ‘You mean cheeky?’ she whispered.
Roel raised lean brown hands to her face and framed her cheekbones. Her grey eyes were mirrored pools of encouragement. His scorching golden gaze locked to her triangular features with hungry force. ‘All I know is that you make me hot for you. If the maids weren’t next door packing for you, I would take you up against the wall. I’d like to do it hard and fast and I think you’d like it too, bella mia.’
A wave of burning heat rose up under Hilary’s skin in the mother of all blushes. She could barely credit that he had said such a thing to her but the sensual intensity of his appraisal underscored how serious he was. Her legs trembled. She felt wildly out of her depth but feverishly excited by his boldness. Her nipples had swollen into stiff peaks below her tee shirt and the forbidden tingle in her pelvis made her feel unbearably weak.
‘And I believe I could do it without messing your make-up,’ Roel continued in the same considering tone.
‘Probably…’ Her voice emerged a little squeakily.
Looked down at her passion-glazed face, Roel laughed with very male satisfaction. ‘But I think I’ll resist the urge until you take it off again!’
‘You’ll be waiting a very long time!’ Mortified by his mockery, Hilary yanked herself back from him and then hesitated. Whether she wanted to or not, she knew that she really ought to ask him who his female visitor the night before had been. ‘I saw the woman who called here to see you last night and I wondered who she was…’
As Roel stilled his stunning eyes veiled. ‘What woman?’
Hilary reddened. ‘She had long dark hair…she was very attractive…’
‘Oh, that one…’ Roel shrugged with magnificent cool, not a muscle moving on his lean, intelligent face. ‘She works for me.’
The current of relief that passed through Hilary left her feeling a little light-headed. It had been silly of her to take fright at the sight of the beautiful brunette. She heard someone in the bedroom next door ask Roel a question.
‘Hilary?’ Roel requested her attention. ‘The maids say they can only find a handful of garments. Where is the rest of your wardrobe?’
Wrenched from abstraction with a vengeance, Hilary froze in strong dismay. Naturally Roel would expect her to have an extensive collection of clothes. Weren’t all rich men’s wives supposed to be mad about fashion? That dressing room ought to be lined with wall-to-wall designer stuff.
How on earth was she to explain all those empty cupboards and drawers?
Frantically striving to come up with a good reason for her lack of clothing, Hilary drew level with Roel and shrugged. ‘I decided to have a good old clean out,’ she announced.
His ebony brows pleated. ‘But according to our staff you have only two outfits here, cara.’
Hilary worried at her lower lip with her teeth and dropped her eyes. Her mind was a total blank. ‘I got a bit carried away…?’
The silence stretched and she threw a nervous glance in his direction.
His lean, darkly handsome features were unreadable. He looked levelly back at her.
‘I really must go shopping,’ she mumbled.
‘If I didn’t know better, I would think you had been living somewhere else,’ Roel commented.
‘For goodness’ sake…’ Hilary exclaimed tautly.
‘So explain the empty closets in a way I can believe.’
Taut as a bowstring, Hilary breathed in deep and, mercifully, inspiration grabbed her. ‘We had a stupid row because you don’t like my taste in clothes…and I was so annoyed with you, I dumped them all!’
Roel treated her to an appreciative appraisal. ‘Now that, with your quick temper, I can picture.’
Some of her fierce tension ebbed. ‘Why are the maids packing for me? Are we going somewhere?’
‘The Castello Sabatino.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE Castello Sabatino was a medieval castle that stood guard over a remote wooded valley that lay close to the Italian border. A still lake of crystal-clear water lapped the foot of the massive stone walls, acting like a mirror for the bright blue vault of the sky and the snow-capped majesty of the alpine peaks. Both the setting and the building were breathtakingly beautiful and Hilary was not at all surprised that Roel had been prepared to marry her to ensure that he kept his ancestral home.
