To Wear His Ring Again

by Chantelle Shaw

  He leaned over the bed and cupped her chin. ‘I will never forgive myself for putting you in danger,’ he said in a husky voice that sent a quiver of sensation down Isobel’s spine. ‘If I have to, I’ll carry you out of here and put you on my plane.’

  Constantin’s eyes glittered as he studied her stark pallor and the vivid purple bruise on her brow. He’d read her medical notes and knew she had suffered bruising to her arms and torso as well as concussion caused by a blow to her head. It could have been worse. He shuddered to think what might have happened if the stalker had succeeded in kidnapping her. He had decided against telling Isobel that David was a schizophrenic with a history of violent behaviour. ‘Don’t fight me, tesorino,’ he murmured.

  She ached all over and felt as if she had fought several rounds with a prize boxer. She did not have the physical or mental strength for a battle of wills with Constantin, especially when his face was so close to hers that she could count his silky black eyelashes. It was impossible to ignore the electric awareness simmering between them, impossible to prevent the slight tremble of her mouth as emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

  Tears filled her eyes and she felt his warm breath whisper across her skin as he made a muffled sound in his throat before he claimed her lips in an achingly sensual kiss that touched her soul. After the terror she had experienced when the stalker had attacked her, the sense of safety and security she felt in Constantin’s arms weakened her resistance and she simply opened her mouth beneath the gentle pressure of his and gave herself up to the pleasure of his kiss.

  The memory of the passion that had flared between them, as well as the underlying tenderness in Constantin’s kiss, stayed with Isobel as they drove to the airport and boarded his private jet. She had taken some strong painkillers for her headache and once the plane had taken off she leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Moments later, she opened them again when Constantin unfastened her seat belt and lifted her into his arms.

  She peered at him groggily as the painkillers took effect. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking you to bed,’ he told her as he carried her to the rear of the plane and into the bedroom, which was fitted with a large double bed. Other memories pushed into Isobel’s mind, of the occasions when he had made love to her for the duration of the journey between London and Rome. Despite her pounding headache she still managed to sound defiant.

  ‘The hell you are! I agreed to go to Rome with you, but that’s all.’ She glared at him as he deposited her on the bed, but her treacherous heart leapt when he kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to her. ‘I am not going to provide you with inflight entertainment.’ She sat upright and groaned as pain shot through her head.

  ‘Relax,’ Constantin drawled, and pushed her gently back down onto the pillows. ‘I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours. When I received a phone call from Carly to tell me what had happened to you, I was...extremely concerned.’ He could not begin to describe his mixture of fear for her well-being, and fury with her attacker, not to mention anger with himself that he might have triggered the stalker’s aggression by kissing Isobel in public. ‘I’m beat. When I make love to you I intend to be wide awake and fully energised.’

  Isobel frowned as the meaning of his words penetrated the sleepy haze fogging her mind. ‘Don’t you mean if, not, when?’

  He raised a lazy eyebrow. ‘We both know that I could have hot and very satisfying sex with you any time I choose, mia bella,’ he drawled. ‘But I’m content to wait until you are ready to accept that I’m the only man who can blow your mind.’

  Temper gave her the energy to snatch up a pillow and thump him with it. ‘Your ego is enormous!’

  His rich laughter echoed around the bedroom as he tugged the pillow out of her hand and pulled her down so that her head rested on his chest. He curled his arms around her, trapping her against his strong body. ‘It’s not the only enormous thing about me,’ he whispered wickedly.

  Despite herself, Isobel’s lips twitched. In the early days of their marriage Constantin had often teased her and made her laugh. They had laughed together, had fun together. What had happened to them? she wondered. Everything had started to go wrong when they had visited his ancestral home Casa Celeste and her charming, laughing husband had turned into a cold stranger.

  * * *

  Constantin’s Roman home was a stunning penthouse apartment in the heart of the city overlooking the Piazza Navona and its famous fountains. From the outside the property was a magnificent historical building, which had been exquisitely restored by a famous Italian architect. Inside, however, the décor was ultra-modern, with huge open-plan rooms lined with glass walls that offered spectacular views across Rome.

  Isobel had first visited the apartment when Constantin had invited her to spend a weekend with him. Boarding his private jet for the flight to Italy, she had noticed the glamorous stewardess glance at her cheap clothes and she had felt self-conscious that she was a lowly office assistant and her billionaire boss was in a different league. When they had arrived at the penthouse she had been overwhelmed by the luxurious surroundings and even more overwhelmed by Constantin. He had been utterly charming as he had dispelled her shyness as quickly as he had dispensed with her clothes, and, soon after, her virginity.

  Now, as she walked through the apartment, Isobel felt a sense of sadness for the innocent girl of three years ago who had been swept off her feet and fallen irrevocably in love with her Italian lover. How naïve she had been to believe that Constantin had returned her feelings. The ugly truth was that she had been just another notch on his bedpost until he had discovered that she was carrying his heir. Her pregnancy had prompted him to marry her, but she’d never been comfortable with her title of Marchesa De Severino. She had felt like an imposter among his aristocratic friends, and after she had lost their baby she had felt like a fraud.

  She assured herself that she was relieved when Constantin showed her to one of the guest bedrooms rather than the master suite. His taunt on the plane that he could take her to bed whenever he chose was not something she wanted to put to the test.

  ‘I kept the clothes you left behind two years ago,’ he said, opening a wardrobe to reveal a rail full of elegant designer outfits that she had worn on the occasions when she had accompanied him to glamorous social events.

  At least she would not have to immediately go shopping, Isobel thought. All she’d brought with her from England was the bag containing a few items of clothes and make-up that she’d taken to Ryan’s and she’d had with her when the stalker had attacked her.

  Her eyes were drawn to the vase of yellow roses on the dressing table. Following her gaze, Constantin explained, ‘I asked the housekeeper to put yellow roses in your room because I know they are your favourite flowers.’

  Isobel recalled that when they had returned from their honeymoon he had filled the house in London with yellow roses and her foolish heart had leapt as she’d taken the gesture as a sign that he cared for her.

  ‘You remembered,’ she whispered, feeling a sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Needing time to regain her composure, she leaned forwards to inhale the roses’ heady perfume. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you.’

  He grimaced. ‘Perhaps I should not have told you of my involvement, knowing how you dislike accepting anything from me. No doubt you’ll consign the roses to the rubbish bin.’

  She was startled by the bitterness in his voice. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You left every single gift that I’d given you behind when you abandoned our marriage, including the diamond necklace I gave you for a birthday present.’

  She pictured the exquisite pear-drop diamond pendant that he had fastened around her neck on the evening of her birthday, when they had been about to host a dinner party for some of Constantin’s business associates. Isobel would have preferred to celebrate her birthday quietly, ma
ybe dinner at a country pub, but he had insisted on holding a lavish dinner in her honour.

  ‘Only the finest quality diamonds will do for my wife,’ Constantin had told her as she’d stared in the mirror at the glittering necklace that had felt cold and hard against her skin. His words had made her feel cold inside as she’d wondered if he had given her the necklace to make a statement of his wealth.

  ‘The necklace must have cost thousands of pounds. I didn’t feel comfortable wearing something so valuable.’

  ‘Why don’t you be honest, and say you didn’t want the necklace or the other items of jewellery and the clothes I bought you because, although you were happy to accept birthday presents from your friends, you hated accepting anything from me?’ Constantin growled. ‘You accused me of being distant, but when I tried to bridge the gap between us you pushed me away.’

  ‘I didn’t want presents, I wanted...’ Isobel broke off, frustrated that she could not make him understand that she hadn’t been interested in material things. What she had longed for was for him to share himself with her, to open up his thoughts and emotions that he kept locked away. ‘I wanted you to take an interest in me as a person,’ she muttered. ‘I wanted our marriage to be an equal partnership, but you seemed to think that if you gave me expensive presents I should be content, and not want anything else such as to see my friends or pursue my music career.’ Her resentment and unhappiness had increased until the only answer had been for her to leave him.

  ‘Everything had to be your way, Constantin,’ she accused him bitterly. ‘My hopes and dreams didn’t count. You reminded me of my father. My mother was a wonderful pianist, and years ago she had the chance to play professionally with an orchestra, but Dad persuaded her that she wasn’t good enough. He said she should carry on working as a piano teacher and not give up her job for a silly dream.’

  ‘In our case, there was no need for you to work,’ Constantin said curtly. ‘I provided you with a good lifestyle.’

  Isobel sucked in a breath, trying to control her temper. ‘That statement shows just how little you understood me. I didn’t want to be provided for. It was, is, important for me to work and provide for myself, to feel independent...’

  ‘Your desire for independence did nothing to help our marriage.’

  ‘Our marriage was beyond help. After we lost our baby there was nothing to hold us together.’

  Her throat suddenly ached. ‘Constantin...’ She swung round to face him and thought she glimpsed hurt in his eyes, but his lashes swept down and hid his emotions. ‘I admit I felt uncomfortable when you gave me expensive gifts. I felt like a...a charity case, like Cinderella. I was the penniless secretary, who landed herself a billionaire husband,’ she reminded him. She bit her lip.

  ‘When we announced our engagement, your PA, Julie, made a snide remark in front of many people in the office that I was a gold-digger and I must have deliberately engineered falling pregnant with your baby so that you would marry me.’

  ‘Why did you care what my PA said? You knew as well as I did that it was my fault you conceived,’ he said curtly. ‘You had told me on the weekend we spent together here that you were not on the pill. Contraception was my responsibility, but I wasn’t as careful as I should have been.’

  Isobel felt her face grow warm as she recalled the occasion Constantin had made love to her in the shower. Their scorching desire had been as uncontrollable as a wildfire, and she had only remembered that he hadn’t used protection that one time when she had stared at the blue line on the pregnancy test and felt sick with worry at the prospect of telling her father that she was going to be a single mother.

  ‘Why did it matter what anyone else thought about our relationship?’ he demanded.

  ‘Julie was right when she guessed that you only married me because I was expecting your baby. When she said those things in the office, I felt humiliated,’ Isobel said in a low voice. ‘For most of my childhood my father was out of work. It wasn’t his fault. He was injured in an accident in the coal mine, but the pit was closed down and he didn’t receive the compensation he was owed. There was a shortage of jobs where we lived, and Dad’s injuries limited the type of work he could do, so the family survived on his unemployment benefit. Mum earned a small income from teaching piano lessons, but I know my parents struggled to make ends meet.’

  She sighed. ‘Kids at school can be cruel. I wasn’t the only one who was taunted for being a scrounger. That was the name the pupils from better-off families called those of us whose families depended on social welfare payments. I felt ashamed that my family lived on handouts, and when I left school I vowed that I would always work and be independent. I guess it was a pride thing, but I was determined never to accept anything from anyone.’

  ‘Surely that did not include gifts from your husband?’ Constantin said harshly. ‘I enjoyed buying you things. It gave me pleasure to see you dressed in beautiful clothes, and I chose pieces of jewellery that I thought would suit you and because I hoped they would give you pleasure. But instead you acted as if I had insulted you.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I had married you for your money.’ She glanced at him and saw incomprehension in his eyes. ‘I didn’t belong in your world,’ she said huskily.

  ‘You might have believed that, but I certainly didn’t.’ Constantin frowned, trying to absorb what Isobel had told him about herself. She had clearly been deeply affected by her childhood and her family’s financial situation, but he had been unaware that she felt sensitive of other people’s opinion that she had married him because he was wealthy. Of the many women he had met who deserved the label gold-digger, Isobel was definitely not one of them.

  ‘How is your headache?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘Completely gone. The couple of hours that I slept on the plane worked wonders.’

  ‘If you feel up to it, we’ll go out for dinner.’ He strode across the room and glanced back at her from the doorway. It was early evening, and the sun sinking below the horizon emitted golden rays that streamed through the window and gilded her slender frame. ‘I never thought you married me for financial gain, Isabella,’ he said gruffly. He hesitated. ‘And, contrary to what I told you when you came to see me in London a few weeks ago, I did not marry you only because you were carrying my child.’

  Isobel was stunned into silence by Constantin’s enigmatic statement, and as she watched him walk out of the room she wondered if she dared to believe him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘TRATTORIA PEPE!’ ISOBEL SMILED as she recognised the charming trattoria tucked in a corner of a small piazza, which was rarely discovered by tourists. Constantin had shown her many of Rome’s hidden gems when they had lived together, and the trattoria had been their favourite place to eat traditional, expertly prepared Roman food. ‘You brought me here the first time I visited Rome.’

  ‘Pepe’s signature dish of porchetta served with herbs, olives and mozzarella is still the best dish you’ll find in all of Rome, in my opinion,’ Constantin said as he ushered her inside the tiny restaurant.

  They were welcomed by Pepe himself, and the trattoria’s owner greeted Isobel like a long-lost relative, kissing her on both cheeks as he spoke to her mainly in Italian, with the odd English word thrown in.

  ‘Sono lieto di incontrarvi di nuovo. I am happy to meet you again,’ she replied, when Pepe finally paused to draw a breath. The conversation continued for several minutes before the trattoria’s patron and head chef hurried back to his kitchen.

  A young, good-looking waiter came to take their order and flirted outrageously with Isobel, until he saw the warning gleam in Constantin’s eyes and beat a hasty retreat.

  ‘I’m impressed by your fluency in Italian,’ he told Isobel drily when they were alone.

  She shrugged. ‘It seemed a shame not to continue the lessons that I’d started when we were t
ogether.’ When she had married Constantin, she had been keen to learn his language, aware that he wanted to bring their child up to speak Italian. But there had not been a baby, she thought painfully, and soon she would no longer be his wife.

  The waiter returned with their first course and gave Isobel a lingering look, before a terse word from Constantin sent him scurrying away.

  She frowned. ‘Why were you rude to the waiter? He was just being friendly.’

  ‘If he had been any friendlier, he would have made love to you on the table.’ Constantin’s jaw hardened as he struggled to control the hot rush of possessiveness that had swept through him when the waiter had smiled at Isobel. He had felt a burning desire to rearrange the waiter’s handsome features with his fist. ‘We might get served quicker if you refrain from flirting with the restaurant staff,’ he growled.

  ‘I wasn’t flirting with the waiter.’ Isobel’s temper simmered. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  Constantin took a long sip of wine. ‘It’s not surprising that you command attention from other men. You are very beautiful.’ He leaned back in his chair and subjected her to a slow appraisal, noting the glossy sheen of her long blonde hair and the sensual shape of her mouth. ‘But it’s not only your looks that make you noticeable. It’s something more than that. You were beautiful when I met you three years ago but you were painfully shy. You blushed every time I spoke to you,’ he said softly, ‘whereas now you have an air of self-confidence that most men would find undeniably attractive.’

  Did he include himself with most men? Isobel wondered. ‘I have grown more confident.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘It was something of a necessity to overcome my shyness when the band became successful and I had to sing in front of huge audiences.’ She chased a prawn around her plate with her fork, remembering the first time Constantin had brought her to the trattoria she had been so nervous that she had clumsily knocked over her glass of wine.