To Wear His Ring Again

by Chantelle Shaw

  She lifted her eyes to his, silently questioning him.

  ‘I would like you to wear your rings again, Isabella,’ he said levelly.

  He did not embellish the statement with flowery phrases, or say that he loved her, but she had not expected him to. Maybe he would never be able to share his feelings in words, but hadn’t he shown her when he had made love to her with tender passion that he believed they shared something special?

  But was it enough? She bit her lip. ‘My career...?’

  ‘Will, I’m confident, continue to go from strength to strength. I listened to the Stone Ladies’ latest album while I was making dinner, and there is no doubt that all the members of the band are talented musicians, but you especially, cara. You have an exceptional voice.’

  He was blown away by her talent, Constantin thought to himself. Isobel had a gift for singing and song writing, but when they had been together he’d been jealous of the time she spent with the other band members and he had not been supportive or understood why having a career was so important to her.

  He picked up her wedding ring and felt her hand tremble as he slid the gold band onto her third finger. Her diamond engagement ring caught a moonbeam and sparkled with fiery brilliance that reflected the fire in her eyes.

  ‘Food,’ he said huskily, uncovering the serving plates where he had piled the grilled steaks. ‘Something tells me I’m going to need plenty of protein for strength and stamina tonight.’

  ‘Believe it,’ she told him sweetly. ‘You have two years to make up for.’

  The sultry gleam in his eyes heightened Isobel’s anticipation, as did his murmured, ‘I will endeavour to give you complete satisfaction, tesorino.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE SEQUENCE OF EVENTS was familiar. The sound of raised voices at the top of the tower. He looked up and saw his father and stepmother. Lorena was falling, screaming—and then her screams stopped. There was so much blood. It was on his hands as he knelt beside her, rolled her over and saw that it wasn’t Lorena, but Isobel, lying lifeless on the ground. And now he was standing on the balcony at the top of the tower, stretching his hands towards Isobel. There was blood on his hands.

  * * *

  No! Mio Dio, no!

  Constantin jerked upright, panting, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts like a marathon runner pushing himself towards the finishing post. He ran a trembling hand across his brow and turned his head slowly, almost scared of what he might see on the pillow beside him. The pale gold of dawn’s first light drifted through the half-open curtains and played in Isobel’s hair. Her face, flushed rose-pink in sleep, was serene and so lovely that his stomach muscles clenched. There was no blood, and she wasn’t lying in a crumpled heap at the base of the tower. He had been dreaming.

  Taking care not to wake her, he slid out of bed and walked across to the window. The bedroom overlooked the courtyard. The bloodstains that had covered the cobbles beneath the tower had long since been washed away, but the images in his head, Dio! He would never forget what he had witnessed when he had been seventeen, Constantin thought grimly. He would never forget watching his father stretch a hand towards Lorena seconds before she had fallen. His nightmare, like all his other nightmares, was a warning. What if he was truly his father’s son? What if he had inherited the monstrous jealousy that had turned Franco into a murderer?

  He looked back at Isobel, sleeping peacefully and unaware of the danger she was in. But he knew. He had known from the first night that they had become lovers and he’d had his first nightmare that he should never have got involved with her.

  He stood by the window for a long time, lost in his dark thoughts that the sun, rising high in the sky, could not lighten. Isobel stirred but fell back to sleep. Her exhaustion wasn’t surprising after they had spent all night pleasuring each other. Constantin closed his eyes and pictured her slender body poised above him as she had lowered herself onto him; her sweet smile as she had taken him deep inside her and their two bodies had become one.

  The sound of a car driving into the courtyard below pulled him back to the present. His uncle was early for their meeting. He paused on his way out of the room to look at Isobel. His resolve hardened. The time had come for him to take control of his future.

  * * *

  Isobel stretched languorously and felt a pleasurable ache in certain muscles. Her entire body tingled, especially her breasts and between her legs where Constantin had devoted his lavish attention. Her face grew warm as she recalled vividly the many and varied ways he had made love to her the previous night. She turned her head towards the empty pillow beside her and wished she had woken in his arms. But the clock told her that the morning was nearly afternoon and he had obviously decided that she needed to sleep in after their energetic night.

  The diamond on her finger glinted as it caught a sunbeam, and she could not hold back a smile of pure happiness. Last night Constantin had returned her engagement and wedding rings to their rightful place, and today was full of hope and promise for the future.

  She heard his voice from the study when she went downstairs, and guessed he was speaking on the phone. Deciding not to disturb him, she continued into the kitchen in search of a caffeine fix. The percolator was bubbling. Her eyes flew to the man seated at the table, sipping a cup of coffee. She recognised him as Constantin’s uncle, Alonso, whom she had met briefly when he had been a guest at their wedding.

  He stood up as she entered the kitchen and proffered his hand. ‘Isobel, I am delighted to find you here at Casa Celeste with your husband.’ Alonso spoke in a thick Italian accent.

  His words sent a little jolt of surprise through her until she realised that he was looking at her wedding and engagement rings on her finger.

  ‘I’m glad to be here with Constantin,’ she murmured as she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

  ‘So, all is well with you and Constantin and you are reconciled. That is good news. The board of DSE are pleased that he has put an end to his playboy image and the newspapers now portray him as a respectable married man. It’s amazing what a little coercion can do.’

  Isobel set her coffee cup carefully back in its saucer. ‘Coercion?’ she said faintly. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘But yes, I prompted my nephew, I...how do you say in English? I gave him a little push to encourage him to resume his marriage.’ The elderly man smiled at her. ‘I think I do you the favour, hmm? I told Constantin that I would appoint him as Chairman of the company only if he mended his wild ways and returned to his wife.’

  ‘When...’ she swallowed, trying to stem the nausea that swept through her ‘...when did you tell Constantin this?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know the exact date. It was the fifteenth of this month, my seventieth birthday. I told him that I wanted to retire and I was considering making his cousin Maurio Chairman unless Constantin could convince me that he was ready to commit to DSE by honouring his commitment to his marriage.’

  The sixteenth of June had been the date of the fund-raising party in London where the Stone Ladies had performed, and later Constantin had kissed her very publicly on the dance floor.

  Functioning on autopilot, Isobel drank the rest of her coffee, grimacing as she swallowed the bitter grounds at the bottom of the cup. Constantin had told her that he’d changed his mind and wanted to give their marriage another chance the evening after he had been given an ultimatum by his uncle to return to his marriage or lose the chairmanship of DSE.

  She had been such a fool! She felt as if the spark of life itself had drained out of her, and her coffee cup slid out of her numb fingers and clattered onto the saucer.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she whispered.

  Alonso chuckled, blithely unaware of the bombshell he had dropped. ‘Sì, for me also it is hard to believe I am seventy. I am looking
forward to spending more time on the golf course now that Constantin is to be Chairman.’ He looked concerned when he noticed how pale she had gone. ‘Are you ill?’

  Isobel scraped her chair on the tiled floor as she staggered to her feet. ‘I feel a little...nauseato.’

  ‘Ah.’ Alonso nodded. ‘Un bambino, perhaps?’

  Sweet heaven! Her heart missed a beat. Fate would surely not play such a cruel trick as to give her a child now, when she had proof of Constantin’s duplicity, she tried to reassure herself as she hurried out of the kitchen. But thudding inside her head was the knowledge that she had left her contraceptive pills behind at her flat in London when Constantin had driven her straight from the hospital to the airport and they had boarded his jet to fly to Rome. When they’d had sex she had completely forgotten that she was not protected.

  She was halfway across the hall, marching towards the study, when the door opened and he emerged. ‘Tesorino.’ His smiled faded when he saw the grim purpose in her expression.

  ‘Don’t tesorino me!’ she snapped, but her eyes absorbed his male beauty; the sculpted angles of his face, and his powerful body clothed in sun-bleached jeans that clung to his hips and a cream cotton shirt open at the throat to reveal a fuzz of black chest hairs. She would love him until she died and the knowledge fuelled her anger.

  ‘I want the truth.’

  He raised an eyebrow, but beneath his nonchalance she sensed that he was as tense and watchful as a jungle cat stalking prey.

  ‘I have never lied to you, Isabella.’

  ‘Did you ask me to give our marriage another chance so that your uncle would appoint you Chairman of DSE instead of your cousin?’

  Isobel’s question echoed around the marble hall, and it seemed to Constantin that the air trembled as it waited for him to reply. He watched dust motes dance in a shaft of sunlight streaming through a window, while his mind relived the nightmare he’d had about her. The sun touched Isobel’s hair and bathed her in a halo of golden light, and as he stared at her lovely face he suddenly knew what he must do.

  He shrugged. ‘Mea culpa. I assume you have spoken to Alonso, so it would be pointless for me to deny it.’

  The world rocked beneath Isobel’s feet but through sheer force of will she remained standing. She wanted to hurt him as she was hurting, and her hand shot out to connect with his cheek, leaving a scarlet imprint of her fingers on his skin. He flinched, and she felt sick with shame. She abhorred physical violence and she hated herself for her betraying loss of control.

  ‘You bastard,’ she choked. ‘I suppose you returned my rings last night knowing that Alonso was coming to Casa Celeste today.’

  In her mind she heard Diane Rivolli at the Bonuccis’ party. Constantin would go to any lengths to claim the chairmanship of DSE that he thinks is his birthright.

  She tugged her engagement ring and wedding band off her finger and hurled them at him one at a time.

  ‘You keep them,’ she said hoarsely. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass. ‘I don’t want them. Maybe in the future you’ll fool another woman into thinking that you do actually have a heart rather than a lump of stone in your chest, and you can give them to her. But sooner or later she’ll discover that there’s nothing but an empty, emotionless void where your heart should be.’

  The rings bounced off his chest and flew up into the air. The yellow diamond glinted in the sunlight before the two rings fell back to the ground and skidded across the marble floor. Isobel did not see where they landed. She spun away from Constantin and flew across the hall. His car keys were on the table and she snatched them up on her way out of the front door.

  ‘Isobel! For Christ’s sake be careful,’ he shouted after her, sharp urgency in his voice. ‘You’re not used to driving such a powerful car.’

  It was typical that he was more concerned about his car than her, she thought bitterly as she thrust the key into the ignition. The engine roared into life, and when she touched the accelerator pedal the car shot forwards so fast that the tyres spun and sent up sprays of gravel. Tears choked her. Her marriage had been a farce from the start, and now it was over for good.

  * * *

  The sports car was a strong-willed beast that needed to be firmly controlled and as Isobel negotiated the sharp bends along the narrow road leading from Casa Celeste she focused on staying alive. But with every mile that she drove away from Constantin the pain inside her intensified until she could barely breathe and she could no longer hold back her tears.

  After a narrow shave with a cart being pulled along the road by a donkey, she turned off into a small village and parked in the central square that was deserted in the middle of the day when the sun was at its hottest and the villagers retreated to their houses.

  She cried until her chest hurt. She had been such a fool. When Constantin had told her a few days ago that he had not only married her because she had been pregnant, she had actually believed him. Anger burned in her gut. She wanted to rip his heart out as he had ripped out hers. She wanted him to suffer as she was suffering, but he never would because he was made of stone. He had deliberately and cold-heartedly used her to gain the chairmanship of DSE. He had seduced her and made love to her, he’d even gone to the length of asking her to wear her wedding ring again—but it had all been lies!

  She stuffed her fist into her mouth to hold back her cry of pain. She would never, ever forgive him for his cruel deception. Why hadn’t she gone ahead with the divorce when he had first asked her, instead of clinging to the stupid hope that he might actually care for her? Memories of her father’s lack of interest opened up an old wound. She hadn’t been good enough, clever enough—simply not enough for her father, who had loved her brother but not her. It was bitterly ironic that Constantin, the only man she had fallen in love with, had never loved her either.

  Wearily, Isobel dug out a tissue from her handbag and wiped her eyes. What had she expected from Constantin? He had told her that he found it difficult to show his emotions, but the truth was that he only cared about one thing and that was DSE. He was driven, ambitious and utterly ruthless.

  She took a ragged breath, and was about to turn the ignition key to restart the car when she pictured in her mind the rose garden he had created in memory of their baby. He had chosen pink rosebuds for Arianna, and he had dug the garden himself, laboured long and hard to make a place of beauty and peace where he could sit and remember a little girl who had never lived but had a special place in his heart.

  Those were not the actions of a ruthless man, Isobel conceded. She bit her lip, remembering how he had taken care of her after she had been attacked by the stalker. He had been determined to protect her, and had even hired a bodyguard, even though she had told him not to.

  But it had been in his interest to protect her, she reminded herself. He had needed to show his uncle that he had reconciled his marriage, and she had just been a pawn in his ambition to take control of DSE...hadn’t she?

  It was too hot inside the car for her to think straight. She climbed out of the vehicle and locked it. The luxurious sports car was very noticeable in the village square, and a group of small boys were staring at it with wide-eyed fascination. Perhaps all boys loved sports cars, Isobel thought as she walked over to the shade of an oak tree. She remembered the model car that Constantin’s mother had given him for his eighth birthday and which he kept locked in a cabinet as if it were as priceless as the crown jewels.

  He had loved his mother, but his father had forbidden him to cry at her funeral. Isobel groaned. How could she have expected Constantin to show his emotions when he had been brought up to hide his feelings? He had not cried at Arianna’s funeral, but perhaps he cried alone when he sat in the rose garden he had made for her.

  She stopped pacing up and down, and hugged her arms around her body, trying to hold her own emotions in check as her treachero
us mind recalled his tenderness when he had carried her upstairs to the bedroom last night. His hands had shook as he’d undressed before sweeping her into his arms and kissing her with such beguiling sweetness and breathtaking sensuality that tears had filled her eyes.

  Constantin’s actions had not been those of a man without a heart, or of a man who did not care.

  She would be the biggest fool on the planet if she went back to Casa Celeste, Isobel told herself. The sensible thing to do would be to continue her journey back to Rome and catch the next available flight to London to begin divorce proceedings. Constantin did not deserve another chance. He did not deserve her love.

  But she could not dismiss the image in her mind of a little boy standing dry-eyed at his mother’s grave. She could not forget the aching sweetness of Constantin’s kiss. She deserved to know the truth of why he had married her. He owed her that much. Suddenly she was running back to the car, determined to uncover the secrets that she was sure he still hid from her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE HOUSE APPEARED to be deserted. Isobel’s footsteps echoed hollowly on the marble floor as she walked into the hall. It crossed her mind that Constantin might have asked his uncle for a lift back to Rome, but in that case why was the front door unlocked? There was no sign of him downstairs, and she had just reached the first-floor landing when she heard a noise that froze her blood. The moan of pain had come from the master bedroom. She hurried along the passage and opened the door, and reeled with shock at the sight that met her.

  Constantin was sitting on the bed, hunched over, his face buried in his hands, and he was crying—great, tearing sobs that shook his body. Only once before had Isobel seen a man cry so broken-heartedly. Her father had howled like an animal in terrible pain when they had dragged her brother’s body from the reservoir. She hadn’t known how to comfort her father, and deep down she had wondered if he’d wished that it had been her instead of Simon who had drowned.