It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

But when he moved, it was simply to put out a hand and steady himself against the doorframe. For a terrible moment she thought he was drunk and tensed involuntarily. However, when he spoke his voice was crisp and clear, without slurring.

‘Emilia, my household has—expectations about tonight and its usual significance, which may have caused you concern.

‘I wish to say that you have no need to fear that I will break my word to you. Today’s ceremony changed nothing and our marriage is still a business arrangement which can—will remain in name only, as you wish. Then, when you are twenty one, you will be free to live your own life and—find happiness.’

He made her a slight bow, then he was gone, closing the door firmly behind him.

For a long time, Emily recalled, she’d sat quite still, gazing unseeingly into space, aware only of the still-flurried race of her heart. And when, eventually, she’d reached for the lamp switch, she’d discovered that her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

Just as it was trembling again now, at this moment, as she picked up the carton of coffee in front of her and drank.

Why am I doing this to myself? she asked with a kind of desperation. Remembering all this—stuff. It must be the most pointless exercise of my entire life. Because it changes nothing. It can’t…

But perhaps it was something she needed to do, if only to convince herself that the stance she was taking was completely justified. That her relationship with Raf Di Salis had been null and void from the beginning and that it was hypocritical to pretend otherwise.

Although she could quite see that it would be a blow to Raf’s amour-propre to be forced to admit openly that his wife was not among his numerous conquests.

In fact, he’d been prepared to go to considerable lengths to present a very different picture of their relationship, she recalled, wincing.

It had been the morning after the wedding and it seemed to Emily that she’d only just managed to drop into a restless sleep when she had been woken by a hand on her shoulder and opened heavy eyes to see Raf standing beside the bed.

She’d sat up, pushing back her hair, instantly defensive.

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was husky.

His mouth tightened. ‘To give you this.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Open it,’ he directed.

She obeyed and gasped when she saw the beautiful square sapphire enclosed by small diamonds that it contained.

‘An engagement ring?’ She frowned in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that?’

‘It is a family tradition,’ he said quietly. ‘This ring is given by each Count to his bride on the first day of their honeymoon as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’

Her face flamed. ‘No way.’

‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear? Now put it on.’

She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made for her alone.

‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about?’ she asked haughtily.

‘If I think of any, I will tell you.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ He added wryly, ‘You will not be disturbed again.’ And left her.

To her own astonishment, she fell asleep within minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.

She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would be under scrutiny, however discreet.

Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.

‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.

It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.

‘Another formality,’ he said softly, as he straightened. ‘Accustom yourself.’

And she’d nodded, unable to speak.

And formal was how their relationship had remained in every respect, for which she could only be grateful. True to his word, Raf had never visited her bedroom again, or attempted to make physical demands on her in any way.

But that had been an easy promise to a girl who was too young and inexperienced to appeal to his sophisticated tastes anyway, she reminded herself tautly. Someone he’d been saddled with, simply because he owed her dying father.

It occurred to her that, for a supposed honeymoon, there had been very little privacy, although Raf himself seemed unaware or uncaring of the fact that they were the cynosure of all eyes.

Not that they were together that much, and she was thankful that the house and its gardens were vast enough for her to be able to make herself scarce most of the time. After all, she had the excuse that she was exploring her new surroundings.

But there were times when she was obliged to be in his company and she found this a strain, conscious always of his cool politeness. At mealtimes in particular, because there were servants present, she struggled, trying to respond to his efforts to engage her in conversation and to smile back at him as if she was really the fulfilled and loving bride of everyone’s expectations.

Perhaps the most successful times were the days when he took her into Rome with him, showing her all the usual tourist sights, but also allowing her a glimpse of his own city, the hidden side that the visiting swarms never saw.

But she was relieved when the supposed honeymoon ended and she was able to fly back to Britain. Although even this had its awkward moment.

Raf had ordered champagne on the flight and, when it came, he raised his glass in a toast to her.

‘I am proud of you, mia cara,’ he told her quietly. ‘It cannot have been easy for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Emily did not look at him. ‘It wasn’t—that bad—in the end. And your house is wonderful,’ she added stiltedly. ‘But I’ll be glad to be home again and get back to normal life.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Do I take it you will be in no hurry to return to Italy?’ His tone was mildly curious.

‘Well, that wasn’t part of the deal, was it?’ she returned defensively. ‘I thought I’d be living in England.’

‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’ He paused again. ‘Perhaps I was hoping, Emilia, that even if we are not lovers, we might become—friends. Learn to enjoy being together. What do you think?’

‘That it’s not very likely. After all, we come from totally different worlds, and you have a very busy life.’ She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass as if they fascinated her. ‘You don’t have to be kind. Really. I’ll be fine.’

‘But there will be times when we shall be obliged to meet,’ he said curtly. ‘When I shall need you to act as my hostess. I did explain this to you.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The formalities again.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t have to worry. I’ll do my best to carry out my duties to your satisfaction.’

‘Grazie, mia sposa.’ His voice was ironic, almost harsh. ‘Then that is how it shall be.’

And that was how it had been, Emily told herself. At first, Raf’s visits to England had been frequent and his calls on her services quite exacting, but as the months had passed they’d become more and more rare.

And at the same time, she’d discovered the first newspaper stories of his liaison with one of the Italian film industry’s rising young stars, Luisa Danni.

For a while she’d felt stunned. But, after all, what else could she reasonably have expected? Just because she preferred to sleep alone, there was no reason for Raf to be celibate too, she told herself over and over again. That had never been part of the deal.

So there would be no accusations—no recriminations. No reproaches either. In fact, no reaction at all.