The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

by Catherine George

  ‘I thought you might like to go down to Rivoire for the tea,’ he said, surprising her. He surveyed her appearance with such pleasure Alicia was grateful, not for the first time, for her mother’s faultless taste. Her beautifully cut fawn linen trousers and ivory silk shirt had cost a lot, but by the look in Francesco’s eyes it had been money well spent.

  ‘You look most elegant, Alicia,’ he commented. ‘But tell me—what has happened to your freckles?’

  She smiled wryly. ‘Nothing, unfortunately. They’re hiding behind concealing cream worth every penny of the fortune I pay for it.’

  ‘I miss them,’ he said simply as they went down in the lift. ‘And until you smiled at me so radiantly at the airport I had missed your dimples also.’

  ‘I was very relieved to see you,’ she admitted as they emerged into the soft evening sunshine. ‘That man was such a nuisance.’

  ‘If he made you smile at me I am grateful to him.’ Francesco led her to a table outside the café of their first meeting and held out a chair for her. ‘The sun is not fierce now, carina, so you need have no worry for your freckles.’

  It wasn’t her freckles she was worried about. Alicia eyed him moodily as he gave their order to the waiter.

  ‘What is troubling you?’ Francesco demanded as he turned back to her. ‘You are frowning.’

  She met his eyes frankly. ‘It occurs to me that staying here at the apartment with you might be looked on as co-habiting, and affect the divorce in some way. In which case I’d rather we went straight to Montedaluca tonight.’

  ‘You are expected there tomorrow. I did not mention that you were arriving at Pisa today. No one knows you are here at the appartamento.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘But this obviously worries you. Are you are in such a hurry for a divorce?’

  ‘None at all,’ she said impatiently. ‘You’re the one who wants the divorce, not me.’

  Francesco shook his head. ‘I have no desire for a divorce either. There are times when it is most convenient to have a wife in the background.’

  Alicia raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘So you can have the bun without the penny!’

  He frowned. ‘I do not understand, cara.’

  ‘Oh yes, you do, Francesco! If your current squeeze starts thinking about marriage you just give her a sad, regretful reminder about a wife who won’t set you free.’

  ‘Squeeze?’

  ‘Girlfriend.’

  ‘Ah.’ He nodded, lips twitching. ‘It is a very useful arrangement, no? Does it also work well for you?’

  There was a pause while they were served with tea and coffee. Once they were alone again Alicia sipped some of the tea before she answered Francesco’s question.

  ‘I avoid the subject, but if pushed I say something vague about divorce. I never mention you,’ she added flatly.

  He shot her a narrowed look. ‘I am the skeleton in the cupboard?’

  ‘You bet you are.’

  Francesco downed his espresso quickly. ‘But there are people who know about me.’

  ‘If you mean Megan, Rhys and the rest of the Davies clan, of course none of them would ever say a word.’ Alicia looked at him levelly. ‘You are not a popular subject of conversation in my family.’

  ‘Because they think I was cruel to you?’

  ‘You were!’

  Francesco’s eyes held hers. ‘And if I could erase the memory of my words from your mind I would do it, no matter what the cost.’

  ‘Too late now,’ she said dismissively, then eyed him in dawning suspicion. ‘Hold on. If you’re not in a hurry for a divorce, Francesco, why were you so insistent on getting me back here? I thought I had to sign documents of some kind.’

  ‘Davverro. But only those documents which refer to my mother’s will.’

  She frowned. ‘Is this true? About the divorce, I mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ He leaned back in his chair with the negligent grace that was so much part of him. ‘Because I am Catholic.’

  ‘How could I forget?’ she said acidly.

  ‘Let me speak, per favore. I do not find it easy to explain this,’ he said, his eyes reproachful. ‘It is sometimes difficult for me in English.’

  ‘You know very well that your English is excellent. But I’m listening, so do go on.’

  ‘Grazie. Even though times have changed very much in Italy, as in the rest of the world, I, personally, find the prospect of divorce very difficult.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you wish for one I will not contest it, Alicia. Ask Huw Davies to help you.’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘But I thought you wanted to marry again, to get heirs for Montedaluca.’

  ‘If I am ever fortunate enough to have a child,’ he said coldly, ‘I shall be delighted because I have a son or a daughter, not because I have fathered an heir for Montedaluca.’

  Alicia’s eyes flashed. ‘My deepest apologies, Signor Conte. I was given to understand very clearly that my duty as your wife was to provide Montedaluca with an heir right away.’

  For a moment their table was a small oasis of silence in the noise and bustle of the piazza. ‘My mother made many mistakes with you,’ said Francesco at last, and sighed deeply. ‘It is a miracle that you did not run away before the wedding, not after it. Did you ever consider this, Alicia?’

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘Yet you did not. Why?’

  Her eyes met his. ‘I was madly in love with you, Francesco. Though right from day one in Montedaluca I began to have doubts about rushing into marriage so quickly. But in the end I just couldn’t bring myself to back out when your mother had worked so hard on all the preparations. I didn’t have the bottle.’

  ‘Bottle?’

  ‘Courage.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I was only a teenager, remember. And a very unsophisticated one, compared to the normal variety.’

  ‘You were enchanting. That is why I could not understand—’ He stopped, shrugging. ‘It is pointless to spend time in regrets. Instead let us try to enjoy this brief time we have together. Or,’ he added, looking into her eyes, ‘do you still hate me too much for that, Alicia?’

  She turned away sharply and kept her eyes on the scene before her as it began to grow dark. The lights had come on in the crowded piazza. Neptune glistened among his nymphs, and David and Perseus held sway in their spotlights as Florence got ready to enjoy the evening. So she might as well do the same. Given the choice she wouldn’t have come back to Florence again to revive memories better left forgotten. But now she was here it would be silly to pretend that her surroundings failed to cast at least some of their original spell.

  She turned to face him. ‘I don’t hate you, Francesco.’ Which was the truth. Her feelings had begun to change the instant she’d learned that he actually had come to Cardiff to look for her. Or even before that, when she first laid eyes on him again. Otherwise she would have refused to make the trip, no matter what legalities demanded it. ‘It was a good idea to break the journey here in Florence. I’ll be able to go on to Montedaluca in a far better frame of mind.’

  Francesco touched her hand fleetingly. ‘I am happy that you do not hate me, Alicia.’

  ‘I did for quite a long time, because quite apart from anything else I thought you were glad to get rid of me. There was no way I could tell Bron what really happened, so she pictured a far worse scenario, sent you and the contessa away and swore the others to silence about your visit.’

  ‘I am relieved,’ he said somberly, ‘that she knows I did not beat you—or worse.’

  ‘No. You just broke my heart.’ Alicia smiled bleakly. ‘But, as I told you before, it mended. Eventually.’

  They sat in silence again for a while. ‘If it is of any comfort to you, Alicia,’ said Francesco softly, ‘my heart suffered also.’

  She thought about it, then nodded. ‘It is, a little. Just knowing that you and the contessa came to find me is a comfort too. It would have been an even bigger one if I’d known at the time. But let’s not dwell on the past any more, Francesco.’r />
  ‘Va bene,’ he said promptly. ‘Since we are together at last, in the place where we first met, I must take advantage of this. Who knows when it will happen again?’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So, instead of sad things, let us think of dinner.’

  She laughed. ‘Spoken like a true Italian! Where are we eating?’

  Francesco’s face took on the arrested expression she’d first seen long ago, right here at a table at the Caffe Rivoire. ‘It is so good to hear you laugh, Alicia.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Where would you like to eat?’

  ‘How about the restaurant with the wonderful frescoes?’

  ‘An excellent choice.’

  Alicia wasn’t so sure about that as they strolled to Santa Croce later. Revisiting the scene of their first dinner together was a bit rash under the circumstances. And the restaurant couldn’t possibly be as magical as she remembered it. But this was a special occasion, and both of them were dressed for it. Francesco was wearing a suit very much like the one worn on that first evening, but the dress Bron had bought her to impress everyone at Montedaluca was very different from the simple little shift worn on her eighteenth birthday. It was so much warmer here than at home; it was the perfect evening for sleeveless, bias-cut layers of cotton voile in a muted shade of almost-pink called ‘ashes of roses’. And for once Alicia had released her curls from their knot, and caught them back with a silver filigree clasp at the nape of her neck.

  ‘You look very beautiful,’ said Francesco. ‘Did your mother make that dress?’

  ‘No. But she paid for it.’ Alicia smiled up at him. ‘Bron does very little actual sewing these days. When she married George she hired two managers, one for the shop and the other for the actual dress-making studio. She keeps an executive eye on both, and even lends a hand when things get busy. But now and again, if a friend pleads on behalf of a daughter, Bron still makes the occasional wedding dress herself.’

  ‘The gown she made for you was perfection.’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘It is stored away very carefully at the castello.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Since it is your mother’s work, would you like to have it back?’

  ‘If you want me to take it back, I will,’ she said carefully.

  He shook his head. ‘I would like very much to keep it, as a ricordo of what might have been, Alicia.’

  ‘Ricordo?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Keepsake—is that right?’

  She nodded, so surprised to find a lump in her throat she resorted to flippancy. ‘Maybe you could recycle it for my successor.’

  He looked down his aquiline da Luca nose. ‘Even if I could find a lady slender enough to wear it, I would never suggest such a thing.’

  When they reached the palazzo which housed the restaurant it was a bittersweet experience to mount the dais at the back again, and sit at one of the tables for two. Alicia gazed nostalgically at the fresco of knights in the flickering candlelight, and sighed a little. The magic was still there. In spades.

  ‘You were lucky to get a table like this at such short notice,’ she commented.

  ‘I had already reserved it,’ he said casually as a waiter arrived with menus.

  By the time they were left alone to make their choices some of Alicia’s irritation at his high-handedness had subsided. ‘How did you know I’d ask to come here again?’

  Francesco shrugged. ‘I did not. I made the reservation because at this time of year it cannot be done at the last minute.’

  ‘And if I’d chosen to go elsewhere?’

  ‘There are many restaurants in Florence, cara, and most of them can provide a table at short notice, even this one. Though not at one of these special tables up here. What would you like to eat?’ he added.

  She studied the menu. ‘I think I fancy the roast pork with rosemary.’

  ‘I shall join you.’ Francesco raised an eyebrow and the wine waiter instantly materialised at his elbow. ‘We shall drink some Rosso di Montedaluca with it.’

  Even if the food had not been delicious, the surroundings, as before, were enough to put Alicia in a mood as mellow as the wine she was served. ‘I wondered if this place could possibly be as magical as I remembered, Francesco, but it is.’

  ‘I have never been back since your birthday dinner here,’ he said, surprising her.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Surely that is obvious? After you left me it would have been too painful.’ His eyes met hers, their glitter intensified by the candle flames. ‘Tonight it is not painful, just unbelievable. I did not expect—or even hope—to face you over a dinner table again, Alicia.’

  ‘I didn’t, either.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘How civilised we are.’

  His eyes darkened. ‘You have attracted too much attention for me to feel civilised.’

  ‘Have I?’ she said, surprised, and tried to peer beyond the circle of light that enclosed them.

  ‘There were many men’s eyes on you as we walked to our table.’

  ‘How flattering.’

  ‘Such appreciation cannot be unusual for you, Alicia, when you work amongst rugby players!’

  ‘The ones I know give me no trouble at all—perfect gentlemen every one of them. But then,’ she added sweetly, ‘I’m talking about my fellow countrymen.’

  ‘You must surely have met players from other countries.’

  ‘Of course I have. Lots. In fact, I’ve been seeing one of them recently. Maybe you’ve heard of him—Jason Forrester, English ex-Saracens player?’

  ‘No, I have not.’ Francesco drained his glass. ‘He is your lover?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Or ever. ‘Due to our respective careers it was so difficult to arrange time together; he began hinting at a more permanent relationship, so I nipped it in the bud.’

  ‘Cosa?’

  ‘I ended it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As I keep saying, marriage—or even a committed relationship—just doesn’t appeal to me.’

  Francesco surveyed her moodily for a while. ‘Does a dolce appeal to you, Alicia?’ he said eventually.

  She shook her head. ‘But it was a delicious meal. Thank you for bringing me here again.’

  ‘It was my great pleasure,’ he responded, equally formal.

  They walked back in silence Alicia found hard to break. Yet they’d been enjoying the evening together until her remark about Jason had put Francesco into a bad mood. Could he really resent someone he’d never met? When they reached the Piazza della Signoria she felt tired as they went up in the lift to Francesco’s apartment; no surprise there. Since the shock of Gareth’s visit she’d hardly slept. The men in her life were giving her a lot of hassle at the moment. Because since they’d met up again Francesco da Luca was very definitely in her life again. It was pointless trying to pretend otherwise.

  Once they were inside the apartment, Francesco spoke at last. ‘Would you like a drink, or tea or coffee, Alicia?’

  She stifled a yawn, wanting nothing more than bed and oblivion for a few hours. ‘No thanks, Francesco.’ She smiled a little. ‘The insomnia of the past week is catching up with me. I desperately need some sleep.’

  His eyes softened. ‘I told Giacomo we would arrive in Montedaluca for lunch tomorrow, so we need not start early. Sleep as long as you like.’

  ‘Thank you. Good night.’

  ‘Buona notte, Alicia.’ He smiled at last, and she smiled back, allowing her dimples to come into play as she left him.

  Thankful that the going-to-bed bit had passed off reasonably well, Alicia’s tension lessened as she closed the bedroom door behind her. She hung her dress away, and after a short session in the bathroom stretched out with a sigh under the covers in Francesco’s beautiful antique bed. A good thing Gareth didn’t know where she was tonight, was her last thought as she went to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  STRONG arms were crushing the life out of her. At last a relentless, devouring mouth lifted from hers long enough f
or Alicia to scream in panic, and she woke up with a start as the light went on and Francesco hurtled into the room, wild-eyed, shrugging into a dressing gown as he ran.

  ‘Sorry. I—had—a nightmare,’ she gasped, shivering so violently he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up into his arms.

  ‘Gran Dio, Alicia,’ he said hoarsely, ‘You gave me the heart attack.’

  ‘My heart’s not so good, either,’ she panted against his chest.

  He rubbed his chin over her sweat-soaked curls as his heartbeat slowed. ‘What was this dream?’ he demanded.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she lied.

  Francesco put her away from him, his eyes widening in consternation. ‘Santo cielo, you are soaked—also the sheets.’ He released her and made for the bathroom. He returned with his towelling robe. ‘Put this on. I will find more sheets.’

  ‘I need a shower,’ she said, teeth chattering.

  ‘Later, cara. Sit now while I fetch the linen. I shall be quick,’ he promised.

  Alicia stripped off her camisole and briefs and pulled on the robe that smelled of Francesco. She thought about stripping the bed, but her hands were shaking too much. What an idiot for thinking about Gareth as she got into bed! No wonder she’d had a nightmare and given Francesco the fright of his life. She sat down in the chair beside the small table under the windows, pushing her sodden hair back from her face, and smiled in remorse as Francesco came back with an armful of bed linen.

  ‘Sorry I gave you such a shock. I shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine.’

  ‘I do not think it was the wine,’ he said grimly, and began to strip the bed. ‘You were screaming at Gareth—begging him to stop.’

  She covered her shudder with a shrug. ‘It was just a dream, Francesco.’

  ‘A dream that drenches you with terror? I think not,’ he said scornfully, working with an efficiency that surprised Alicia. She had never pictured the Conte da Luca doing anything so menial. ‘Have you had the dream before?’