‘To have that bath you suggested.’ To give herself time.
‘You don’t get out of telling your story that easily,’ Alessandro warned. ‘I’ll order breakfast while you’re reclining in bubbles, then it’s your turn.’
Putting a CD on to play, Emily slipped the slim volume of poetry Alessandro had given to her, with the Christopher Marlowe rose from her wedding bouquet pressed inside it, between his jeans and jumper, where he was sure to find it, before heading for the bathroom.
‘What are you doing?’ he said suspiciously as she darted about the room.
‘Nothing.’
‘This music—?’
Her shoulders dropped with relief that the first part of her plan hadn’t failed.’ Miranda’s first commercial recording.’
‘It’s quite remarkable,’ Alessandro murmured, remaining very still as he listened.
‘It was brought out in time for Christmas. This is the first copy off the press. Miranda wanted you to have it…she signed it for you.’ Hurrying to his side, Emily pressed the empty case into his hands. ‘I suppose I should have wrapped it up—’
‘No, this is perfect,’ Alessandro insisted. And before she could get away he caught hold of her hands and raised them to his lips. ‘Go and have your bath, Emily—and don’t be long.’
The message in his eyes was unmistakable…irresistible. Emily held his gaze. Her heart was thundering in her chest. It was going to be all right. Everything was going to be all right…
‘Do I have to?’ she protested after her bath, when they were both sitting by the fire again. ‘I’m fine with facts, but I’m absolutely hopeless at telling stories.’
‘Then if you can’t play the game,’ Alessandro warned, ‘you’ll have to pay a forfeit.’
There was only a glint of humour in his eyes, but it was enough for Emily to feel as if the whole world had revolved on its axis and returned them to a moment in time before secrets had driven a wedge between them. ‘A forfeit?’
‘Certainly,’ he murmured, in a voice that hovered between stern and seductive. Reaching towards her, he brushed a wayward strand of hair back from her face with one finger. ‘And I get to choose what that forfeit should be.’
Emily’s nerves were jangling with awareness.
She was acutely conscious of the crackling of the logs in the grate and the barely discernible patter of snow against the window as his hand moved to cup the back of her head and draw her close. As his warm, musky man-scent invaded the clean air she made no move to resist when he gathered her into his arms.
‘Thank you for the rose,’ he whispered against her lips, and even though his eyes were half closed Emily could see how bright they flared with passion, and with love.
‘And for the gift of music. I can’t think of a better Christmas present.’
‘Except this,’ she murmured seductively, drawing him down with her onto the soft rug in front of the fire. It felt like a homecoming, a long awaited return. She was lost from the moment his lips touched her body. And when his tongue began to work on her nipples there was no possibility of turning back.
Moving lower, Alessandro freed the fastenings on her jeans and took them down, together the tiny thong she was wearing. Naked now, Emily moved sinuously beneath him as he covered her waist and her belly with tiny teasing bites, before moving on to the insides of her thighs. Running her hands appreciatively over his back, she felt bereft when he left her briefly to tug off his clothes.
There was nothing wrong in having your husband make love to you, Emily reassured herself when something dark and unfathomable niggled at the back of her mind—nothing but the knowledge that you were really four months pregnant with his child and he didn’t know yet! She pulled away as his kisses grew a lot more intimate.
‘What?’ he said, but there was already a hard look in his eyes—as if he knew, Emily saw apprehensively. But how could he know? ‘You taste different.’
She was so thrown by the comment that it took her a few moments to rally her thoughts. ‘Different?’ she muttered.
‘You heard what I said.’
The change in Alessandro’s voice, in his mood, was frightening. Backing away, Emily sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. ‘How do you mean, different?’
His eyes had narrowed and his gaze was calculating. ‘I can’t list the contributory factors like a recipe—’
‘The contributory factors?’ Emily demanded, reaching nervously for her clothes. ‘Don’t ever accuse me of lawyer-speak again!’ Her attempt to lighten the mood skittered across the frigid silence between them, making no improvement. Stumbling awkwardly around, she pulled on her clothes. ‘I should never have come,’ she exclaimed when Alessandro made no response. ‘I’m going to call down to Reception and find out when that guide will be leaving the village—’
‘Put that down!’
One minute he was on the rug gazing up at her; the next he was standing beside her with the telephone in his hand.
‘I think you owe me an explanation, Emily.’
‘No—why—?’ she said, backing away from the look in his eyes.
‘I think you know. How many months pregnant are you, Emily? Why didn’t you tell me the moment you found out?’
Emily’s head spun and the ground seemed to come up to meet her. This was the very last thing she had wanted. The hurt in his voice jabbed at her mind like so many thorns.
‘How long were you prepared to wait before you told me?’
‘Stop!’ She put her hands over her ears, as if she couldn’t bear to hear another word. ‘Please, Alessandro, stop firing questions at me. I can’t think—’
‘That’s perfectly obvious.’
She glanced at him, then quickly looked away. Everything that had been between them minutes earlier had been replaced by an expression on his face that chilled her to the marrow. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘You set a great scene; I’ll hand you that,’ he said bitterly, swiping one angry hand across the back of his neck.’
‘A scene? What do you mean?’
‘The music, the poetry, the rose,’ he flashed accusingly. ‘I would have preferred honesty…and from the start. Why couldn’t you just trust me?’
Silence swooped down between them, holding them apart, until finally Alessandro said in a voice so low she could hardly be sure he spoke at all, ‘It’s my fault. That damnable clause in our country’s constitution—I should have told you—’
‘Stop it!’ Her cry rang harshly round them after his murmured confession. ‘I’m at fault, too, Alessandro,’ Emily insisted desperately. ‘But I was frightened—’
‘Frightened?’ He looked stunned. Wheeling away from her, he raked stiff fingers through his hair, and then stopped again, as if he hardly knew what he was doing. ‘I can’t stand this,’ he admitted, shaking his head distractedly. ‘I can’t bear what’s happening between us—and most of all I can’t bear to think you were frightened of me.’
‘I was never frightened of you,’ Emily admitted softly. ‘I was frightened of losing you…frightened of what it will mean to all of us…you, me, and especially our child…when that wretched contract comes to an end.’
‘Contract!’ He made a sound of disgust as he turned his face away. ‘I should never have put my name to it in the first place.’
‘We both entered into it in good faith,’ Emily pointed out. ‘We just didn’t expect to have feelings get in the way of a business deal.’
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ he demanded tensely, staring at her as if his very life depended on her answer.
‘Easily,’ Emily said as she touched his arm. ‘We’ve both made mistakes. Neither of us was prepared for how our feelings would grow. That contract was drawn up to satisfy our business instincts, not our emotions. I know I should never have left you…but when I found out about the clause in the constitution that demanded an heir before your father could abdicate I couldn’t think straight—’
‘And no wonder,’ Alessandro adm
itted, very slowly drawing her into his arms, as if he needed to be certain she knew that was where she belonged. ‘And now?’
‘Now?’
‘Can you think straight now?’ he demanded softly.
‘I hope so…I don’t know.’ She shrugged with exasperation. ‘I’m just so—’
‘Pregnant?’ he supplied gently, a wry smile playing around his lips as he looked at her. ‘This is the first time for you and the first time for me…and I am totally overwhelmed to know we are expecting a child. Your hormones must be in turmoil. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Emily.’
As he dipped his head to kiss her Emily made herself pull back. ‘Are you quite sure that marriage to a commoner is what you really want, Alessandro?’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ He drew his head back to stare at her in bemusement. ‘How can you even ask me a question like that?’
‘There must be so many women of noble birth who would jump at the chance—’
‘And none of them is you.’
‘But it can’t have been easy for your father when you told him.’
Alessandro placed his finger over her lips. ‘My father loves you, Emily.’
‘You can trace your ancestors back thirty generations—’
‘And half of them were warlords,’ Alessandro broke in firmly. ‘Brigands who snatched power from those weaker than themselves. They would be considered beyond the pale in today’s society.’
‘But still—’
‘No, Emily,’ he said firmly. ‘Stop this right now. Did you know that Christopher Marlowe was the son of a shoemaker? No?’ he said, staring at her intently. ‘And yet he was a far greater prince than I. We quote his words more than four hundred years after his death. Who will remember my words?’
‘You share your father’s passion for Tudor playwrights,’ Emily exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile as she relaxed at last.
‘It would be impossible to live under the same roof as my father and not share his passions,’ Alessandro admitted wryly. ‘And one of his most profound, my love, is you.’
‘And yet I’ve been so unreasonable—to both of you.’
‘No,’ Alessandro argued gently. ‘You’re a woman in love, a pregnant woman in love, and with a man you’re still getting to know.’
‘So, where do we go from here?’ she said anxiously, scanning his face.
‘That’s the easy part,’ he murmured, kissing her again.
When Alessandro insisted they should both dress for dinner that evening Emily didn’t have the heart to refuse him, even though she expected the small, exclusive hotel festivities to be low-key.
The floor-length gown, packed into her suitcase at the last minute in a moment of whimsy, was of crimson silk, and emphasised the creamy whiteness of her skin. She felt particularly comfortable in it because it draped elegantly over her fuller figure. Leaving her hair to fall loosely around her shoulders, she wore the minimum of make-up—just some lip-gloss and soft grey eyeshadow to point up the brilliant jade-green of her eyes.
Wondering what Alessandro had planned, she found herself ready before him, and had to keep reminding herself that this was the man who loved her while she watched with naked appreciation as he dressed after his shower.
As he slipped into his dinner jacket, and made final adjustments to his hair in the mirror, he smiled back at her. ‘I think it’s time for your Christmas present,’ he said, shooting her the type of look that always made her melt.
‘But we’ve just got dressed—’ She stopped at his amused glance of male awareness. The sound of his voice was enough to arouse her, she realised self-consciously. But he instead of moving towards her he made for the door.’ Alessandro?’ Emily called after him anxiously. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I said it was time for your Christmas present now,’ he reminded her. Removing what looked like a single sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, he left it on the oak dresser by the door. ‘While I’m gone, you might like to cast your eyes over this,’ he suggested. And then, before she had a chance to say a word, he left the room.
‘Alessandro, wait—’ Emily’s heart gave a sickening lurch as she rushed towards the door. Swinging it open, she stared both ways down the corridor. But everything was silent. He was nowhere to be seen. Coming back into the room, she closed the door behind her. Biting her lip, she snatched up the sheet of paper and began to read.
Alessandro’s bold pen-work leaped off the page at her, his blue ink resonating purposefully against the thick ivory-coloured sheet.
‘Come live with me, and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove…
If these delights thy mind may move! Then live with me, and be my Love.
Two minds with but a single thought…When would she ever learn to trust him?
‘Alessandro—’ She whirled round as he came back into the room. ‘I read the poem.’
‘Did you like it?’
The confidence in his eyes thrilled her. ‘Of course.’ She wondered if they would ever make it down for dinner…
‘So, I chose well?’
‘How can you ask?’
‘I apologise for leaving you so abruptly,’ he said, crossing to her side. ‘I just wanted to check everything was ready.’
‘Ready?’ The restaurant table, she surmised, imagining how busy the hotel would be on Christmas Eve.
‘Yes. We have to go out onto the balcony.’
‘The balcony?’
‘Do you have a wrap? Here, take this.’
Before she could stop him, Alessandro had shrugged off his own jacket and was wrapping it around her shoulders.
‘You’ll freeze,’ Emily said, looking at him with concern. ‘And why the balcony?’
‘Stop asking questions,’ Alessandro said, snatching up another jacket from the chair. ‘We’ll miss everything.’
‘What?’
But Alessandro was in no mood for conversation as he hurried her outside.
The balcony overlooking the immense, mountain peaks in front of them was beautifully lit, and there were heaters, strategically placed by the hotel, so that instead of feeling cold, as she had expected to, Emily felt positively cosy as she sank into the comforting warmth of Alessandro’s jacket.
The particular balcony on which they were standing went right around the hotel, and more people were joining them, Emily noticed, trickling out of their rooms in twos and—
‘Mum? Dad!’ she gasped, seeing who it was. Bolting towards them, she gave them each a hug, laughing with surprise. Then, at her father’s gentle prompting, she turned. ‘Your Royal Highness—’ Turning to Alessandro, she could only shake her head in speechless delight.
‘Happy Christmas, my darling,’ he whispered, drawing her close to plant a tender kiss on her lips. ‘Look—’ he said, including everyone as he gestured towards the mountain. ‘They’re about to start.’
‘What…what’s happening?’ Emily demanded softly, looking for answers to Alessandro.
‘Watch the top of the mountain,’ Alessandro instructed, holding her in front of him as everyone else gathered round.
At first all Emily could see was a cluster of light, right at the top of the tallest peak. ‘Where’s Miranda?’ she whispered, as her mother came to stand next to her at the front rail of the balcony.
‘Listen,’ Alessandro commanded, silencing everyone.
As she waited, Emily noticed that the whole village seemed to be out on the streets; people were standing on the wall by the river and on the parapet of the bridge to get a better look. But the silence was absolute as they all stood staring at the top of the mountain.
Emily jumped closer to Alessandro when she heard a cannon being fired, somewhere far away. The loud report echoed several times, fading with each repetition as the shots bounced off each majestic rockface in turn. As it fell completely silent again a haunting melody shimmered through the crisp mountain air.
‘Miranda!’ Her sister’s playing was uniquely beautiful and Emily
would have known it anywhere. Alessandro’s hold around her waist tightened a little as he burrowed his face into her neck to give her a kiss of confirmation.
The limpid sound of the solo violin was completely suited to the magical occasion, and as the sound rose through the speakers judicially placed throughout the village a murmur arose from the crowds on the streets, and then applause.
As Alessandro pointed up towards the jagged peak again Emily could see that the tiny cluster of light at the top of the mountain had split up to form a chain, and was now beginning to stream down the slopes in a long, curling ribbon of light.
‘The ski instructors—each holding a torch,’ Alessandro explained, and the shimmering line took its cue from the waltz Miranda was playing and swung in giant rhythmical loops across the mountainside as they came down towards the village.
‘It’s magical!’ Emily murmured, leaning back into Alessandro. ‘The best…the very best Christmas present I could ever have.’
‘Don’t speak too soon,’ Alessandro murmured close to her ear, so that her whole body ached for him.
After the display they ate a light meal together. Miranda joined them, flushed and happy with success, and accompanied by a rather striking-looking man who, Emily learned, having won a gold medal in the downhill ski race at the Winter Olympics, had been granted the honour of leading the torchlight procession of skiers down the mountain.
When they had finished eating Alessandro led everyone back onto the balcony, to see a barrage of fireworks screaming into the night sky, illuminating the inky blackness with endless plumes of exploding light.
‘Happy Christmas, belissima,’ he murmured, as every clock in the village struck midnight.
‘Happy Christmas, Alessandro,’ Emily whispered in return, wondering if anyone in the world had ever been as happy as she was.
‘Alessandro! Emily!’
Releasing their hold on each other, they turned to share their happiness with Alessandro’s father.
‘Tonight you have made an old man very happy,’ he said, opening his arms wide to embrace them both. ‘This—this is what I have wished for since our first meeting in the garden,’ he added, turning to address Emily. ‘I would gladly cede all the privileges life has granted me to see my son Alessandro as happy as he is now—with you, Emily. And to know,’ he added archly, ‘that for the very first time in his life he has met his match.’
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