The Duke's Wife

by Stephanie Howard

  ‘No, Damiano.’

  Sofia pulled her hand away, though she had half wanted to leave it there, had come within a hair’s breadth of doing so. For it was so long now since she had felt the physical warmth of him, his virile strength, and the effect it had on her. And just that fleeting touch had sparked something in her. A yearning, deep and fierce, that had caused her breath to catch. But there was absolutely no way she would ever succumb.

  At least he did not insist. She was aware of him smiling and moving away. Good, Sofia thought; the further the better.

  After a brief drive through the city, suddenly they were drawing up outside Da Mario, the chicest restaurant in town.

  ‘We’re having dinner here?’ Sofia turned a questioning look on him. ‘And who, might I ask, are we going to be dining with?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ He was smiling, evidently enjoying the mystery. Then he was climbing out of the car as the chauffeur pulled open the door for them and offering his hand to her as she climbed out behind him.

  A moment later Mario himself appeared through the restaurant doorway, greeting them effusively and leading them inside. But not to the main part of the restaurant, which was packed as usual, but to a private room at the side where, to Sofia’s surprise, there was a table lit with candles and set for two.

  She looked at the table and then at Damiano. What the devil was he up to? Well, whatever it was, he was wasting his time.

  ‘As you can see, we’re dining alone.’ As the dark eyes fixed on her, Sofia could see again that same intense look of before. ‘It’s been rather a long while,’ he told her, ‘since we spent time alone together.’

  Sofia looked back at him. I was right, she was thinking. This surprise is really most unwelcome. And she was about to protest, to demand that he allow her to leave, but she really didn’t feel at all up to a fight tonight, so instead she just sat down as a waiter pulled out her seat for her. She would go along with him and just pray that her torment would be brief.

  Damiano was watching her carefully as he sat down opposite her. He must play this by ear. For he could sense the hostility in her. And he must accept that he was unlikely to achieve very much this evening, though even a couple of hours without discord would be a step in the right direction. Something to build on for the future.

  But he would not push her, for she was looking a little tired, her cheeks paler than usual, a smudge of shadow around her eyes. Indeed, there had been a worrying moment earlier at the reception when he had caught sight of her across the room and feared she might be about to faint.

  As he handed her a menu, he leaned towards her across the table. ‘Are you feeling OK?’ he asked with a frown.

  ‘I’m feeling fine, thanks.’

  Sofia took the menu and did not look at him. She had no wish to discuss her physical state with him and give him an excuse to feign tenderness and concern for her. As it was, he was being too solicitous by half. And, besides, now that she was seated, she was feeling perfectly OK.

  They ordered scallops to start, with rack of lamb to follow, though Sofia wasn’t really feeling terribly hungry. Still, the scallops were delicious and Sofia was able to relax a bit as Damiano took charge of the conversation, entertaining her with a string of light-hearted stories about various things that had happened to him recently.

  That was a double relief. He was obviously planning to keep things pleasant and by doing most of the talking he was saving her the effort, for she really wasn’t feeling very chatty this evening. As she watched him, she began to wonder if she’d been mistaken. Maybe, after all, he wasn’t up to anything. Maybe he’d just felt like a quiet evening out. Though why he should have chosen her to spend it with, of course, was a mystery.

  It was as the waiter brought their main course that he looked across the table and told her, ‘By the way, you make an exceptionally good Fairy Godmother.’

  Sofia blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon? What do you mean?’ Was this it? she was wondering. Was this why he had brought her here—to put the boot in on her taking part in Cinderella?

  But it didn’t look that way, for he was salting.

  ‘I came to see you at rehearsal. Twice, as a matter of fact. And I must say I thought you were really terrific.’

  ‘You came to see me at rehearsal?’ Sofia wasn’t sure if she believed him. ‘When?’ she demanded. ‘I didn’t see you:

  ‘I came yesterday. And a couple of days before that as well: Then suddenly he frowned. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that your part in the ballet isn’t a dancing part? That you don’t wear a tutu? That it’s all very dignified and proper?’

  So he had been to see her. Unless someone had simply reported back to him, of course, though something in his expression said that that wasn’t the case. How extraordinary, Sofia thought, astonished, as he asked her again, ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you just let me believe the worst?’

  Sofia looked at him for a long, thoughtful moment before answering. Then she told him, ‘I didn’t tell you because it shouldn’t have been necessary for me to explain something like that to you. You should have known I wouldn’t do anything undignified or improper, anything to embarrass you or your position. But you jumped to the worst conclusion, just as you always do. I suppose I didn’t tell you because I was just so angry and insulted.’

  ‘Even at the risk that I might forbid you to take part in the production? Wasn’t that rather a case of cutting off your nose to spite your face?’

  ‘If it had come to that, then of course I would have told you. The only reason I agreed to take part in the ballet was because the proceeds of all three performances will be going to charity and my presence will obviously help to sell tickets. But to be honest I was pretty sure that, even if you knew the truth, it probably wouldn’t make a jot of difference. You would still have disapproved. Everything I do seems to displease you.’

  She looked steadily into his eyes, simply stating a fact, in perfect control of her emotions. ‘In your eyes I’m incapable of doing anything right. I felt I simply couldn’t win.’

  ‘Is that really how you feel?’ A pained look touched his eyes. ‘Surely not?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord, what have I done to you?’ He reached across the table and took hold of her hand. ‘I have an awful lot to make up to you,’ he said.

  Sofia very nearly didn’t snatch her hand away, but then at the very last moment she did. Dropping it into her lap, she sat back in her seat as he continued, ‘Sofia, I really do want to make things up to you. I’m beginning to realise I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the course of our marriage. But I’m sure it’s not too late to start putting those wrongs right.’

  He leaned towards her across the table, the dark eyes urgent. ‘Will you give me a chance, Sofia? Even though I don’t deserve it.’

  Sofia was staring back at him in total speechless astonishment. Were her ears deceiving her? Was this really Damiano saying these things? Apologising? Admitting he’d made mistakes? Asking her to give him a chance? Suddenly the world was spinning backwards.

  He was still leaning towards her with that intense look in his eyes. ‘You know, I was so proud when I saw you on stage,’ he told her. ‘Though I must say it’s not the first time you’ve made me proud recently. I’ve felt privileged on quite a few occasions to have you as my wife.’ He smiled. ‘And you really do make a wonderfully regal Fairy Godmother.’

  Sofia could feel her heart pumping erratically inside her. He wasn’t fooling her. This was for real. She could see it in his eyes. And she could see something else there that she had never seen before: a warmth and a tenderness that looked very close to love.

  He was reaching out his hand again, silently asking for hers. ‘Will you give me a chance? Let me try and make it up to you? Will you, Sofia? I really hope you’ll say yes.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She wanted to say yes, but all at once she felt frightened. She glanced down at the white tablecloth. ‘I don’t know,’ she said again.

  There was a pa
use, then she heard him say, very softly, ‘Please, Sofia.’ She looked up at him and felt her heart jolt. It was hopeless. She could not resist as the dark eyes seemed to swallow her. With a small shiver she reached out her hand and let him enfold it in his.

  ‘We have a lot of ground to make up.’ Gently, he squeezed her fingers. ‘A lot of talking to do. And a lot of setting the record straight. But not tonight,’ he added, frowning a little as he watched her. ‘You look tired. What you need is an early night. In fact, I think we should cut this dinner short and get you home to bed straight away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Besides, it’s later than I thought.’

  Sofia did not argue. ‘Yes, I am a little tired.’ For she was vaguely aware of that light-headed feeling again—though this time it was probably shock as much as tiredness! ‘I’ll just make a quick visit to the Ladies,’ she told him, ‘then we can go.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you here.’ As she stood up, Damiano stood up too, drew her towards him and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘I’m glad we had this dinner. I think we’ve straightened a few things out.’

  Sofia headed off to the Ladies feeling as though her feet were barely touching the ground. Was this really happening? Now, when she’d decided it never would? She felt hope light up inside her and happiness lap at her heart, and though there was still a small reserve of caution and fear inside her it was growing smaller by the minute. What she had seen in his eyes was real. She was almost completely sure of it.

  When she emerged a few minutes later there was a smile on her lips. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, to climb into the car and go home with him. She couldn’t wait to see that warm, tender look in his eyes again.

  But her smile vanished on her way past the open doorway to the main restaurant as, for no reason at all, she cast a quick glance inside. She stopped in her tracks, the blood freezing in her veins.

  For sitting at one of the tables with a group of companions was the ever ravishing-looking Lady Fiona. And as Sofia stared at her unseen Fiona glanced quickly at her watch, then, murmuring something to her companion, began .to rise to her feet.

  For a moment Sofia could not move. What was going on? she was asking herself. For all at once she was recalling how Damiano had looked at his watch too, and his sudden desire to leave, saying it was later than he’d thought. Did he and Fiona have a secret appointment? Was he planning to pack her off home so he could meet up with his mistress? Was that what this was all about? Suddenly, she was certain it was.

  Her stomach churning inside her with anger and betrayal, Sofia headed for the room where Damiano was waiting for her, bursting through the door, so that he sprang to his feet, frowning.

  ‘Sofia,’ he demanded, ‘are you OK?’

  Sofia walked up to the table, feeling like a robot, snatched up one of the wine glasses and threw the contents in his face.

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, I’m not OK,’ she said.

  Then she collapsed in a dead faint on the floor.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SOFIA came to to find herself lying stretched out on a sofa in a strange room, with Damiano leaning over her looking anxious.

  ‘What happened?’ She blinked at him in total confusion for a moment. Then, catching sight of the red-wine stain down the front of his white shirt, it all came flooding back to her and she closed her eyes again.

  Fiona. Their secret appointment. Her feeling betrayed again. Her happiness shattered. Her misery engulfing her.

  ‘Have a drink of water.’ Damiano was raising her head slightly, holding a cool crystal tumbler to her lips. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked her. ‘God, you gave me a fright.’

  Sofia could feel her lips trembling as she took a sip of the water. She felt like weeping with misery. That was how she was feeling. Without looking at him, she answered, ‘I’d like to go home, please.’

  He took her home and accompanied her upstairs to her bedroom and not once did he mention the wine she’d thrown in his face. He knows why I did it, Sofia decided. He knows I found out and he doesn’t want to talk about it. And though one part of her was itching to have it out with him another, larger part was just immensely grateful that the subject was being avoided for the moment. She felt as weak as a kitten. All she wanted to do was sleep.

  As Angela appeared, looking worried, to help her to bed, Damiano told her, ‘I’ve asked Dr Gentile to come up and have a look at you.’ Then he kissed her briefly on the forehead. ‘Have a good rest. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Sofia neither answered him nor looked back at him. She didn’t want. to see him in the morning. Quite frankly, she didn’t want to see him ever again.

  As a tear crept down her cheek, she brushed it away angrily. He was a two-faced, lying pig. Lord, how she hated him.

  It was about three in the morning when Sofia suddenly awoke, feeling strangely clear-headed, all her tiredness quite gone. She rolled over and stretched. She felt thirsty. She needed a drink. Pulling herself up, she reached out to switch on the bedside lamp—and very nearly jumped out of her skin.

  ‘Sorry I scared you. How are you feeling?’

  Damiano was sitting in a chair at the end of her bed dressed in one of his customary Paisley silk dressing gowns. He looked as though he’d been ensconced there for quite some time.

  Sofia blinked at him. ‘What are you doing here? Are you trying to give me a heart attack- or something?’

  ‘Not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘But there’s not much danger of that anyway. Dr Gentile tells me you couldn’t be in better health.’

  ‘Does he really?’

  With a dismissive toss of her head, Sofia reached for the glass of water on her bedside table. She vaguely remembered the doctor coming to visit her last night, but she’d been too tired and woozy-headed to take in much of what he’d said. Still, whatever had been wrong with her, she was certainly feeling fine now. She took a mouthful of water, glanced at Damiano and demanded, ‘You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just keeping an eye on you. And you haven’t answered my question either. How are you feeling? Though I think I can see you’re feeling better.’

  ‘Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.’ Sofia put the glass down again, not quite certain what she ought to do next. She could hardly just put the light out and go back to sleep with Damiano sitting there like some unlikely kind of night nurse!

  She frowned at him. ‘You can go now. I really don’t need keeping an eye on.’

  ‘No, I don’t think I’ll go just yet.’ Damiano sat back more comfortably, hands laid lightly on the arms of his chair, long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him. And, as Sofia was about to insist, he suddenly told her, ‘I know why you threw that wine in my face.’

  Sofia blushed and sat back, pulling the covers about her chest. She had entirely forgotten about the wine-throwing incident. But now that he had reminded her she felt fresh anger uncoil inside her. Anger and hurt and a bitter sense of betrayal.

  ‘Yes,’ she said in a tight tone, ‘I rather expect you do.’

  The tar-black eyes narrowed. ‘The reason I happen to know is because, in the meantime, I’ve spoken to Fiona.’ As Sofia winced visibly at that name, he leaned forward and frowned at her. ‘Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I had no idea she was at the restaurant. If I’d known that, I can assure you I would never have taken you there in the first place.’

  He paused, still frowning, eyes full of dark intensity. ‘She had no idea that we were there either, until she caught a glimpse of you as you were on your way to the Ladies. Then, later, she got to hear what had happened—about you fainting and throwing wine at me—and she phoned me after we got back, rather concerned, to say she suspected that she might be the cause of the upset.’

  “‘Rather concerned”?’ That was a good one! Sofia gave a cynical, humourless smile. ‘I’ll bet she was just all broken up with concern,’ she added brittly.

  ‘Not exactly.’ Damiano’s tone was gen
tle. ‘But, nevertheless, she was concerned.’ He looked deep into her eyes for a-moment, then he told her, ‘You see, she’s really not the enemy you seem to think she is.’

  Sofia sniffed with disbelief and dropped her gaze to the covers. Suddenly, her stomach was churning inside her. The last thing she wanted was to talk about Fiona. It was far too hurtful. Far too painful.

  She flicked a glance up at Damiano, full of angry accusation. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she demanded.

  ‘Because it needs to be done. Because it’s time all this was finally cleared up. Because, if I don’t, this issue is going to wreck your marriage.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ Sofia snapped up very straight, grey-blue eyes burning as she looked into his face, her tightly clenched fists clutching the covers. ‘The trouble with you is you think you can do as you please! It’s not supposed to matter if you have a mistress! I’m supposed just to accept it! Well, I can’t and I won’t!’

  ‘I’ve never asked you to accept that. I’ve told you a hundred times it’s not true. But you refuse to believe me and in the end I got tired of trying to convince you: Damiano fixed her with a fierce look. ‘Fiona is not my mistress.’

  Sofia’s expression was fierce too. ‘You’re right, I don’t believe you! Everyone knows she’s your mistress and has been for years!’

  ‘Look. Listen to me.’ Keeping his eyes fastened to hers, in a sudden gesture of impatience Damiano drew his chair closer, so that now he was sitting only a couple of feet away. He leaned towards her with an urgent look. ‘I know what people say. But what people say is wrong. Mere gossip without foundation.’

  As Sofia started to interrupt, he carried on speaking, impatiently drowning out her protest. ‘Fiona and I were lovers once, but that all ended four years ago. It ended the day I became engaged to you. I don’t deny that, over the years, I’ve continued to see her from time to time. But not as a lover. As a friend. As a confidante.’

  He leaned towards her. ‘I knew what people said, but I made the mistake of thinking that didn’t matter. My conscience was clear. I knew I was not an adulterer. I didn’t see why I should be required to prove it.’