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

CHAPTER TWO

EVEN now, three years later, Emily could remember every detail of that short journey. Could recall the brush of the stair carpet under her bare feet, the way the shadows had seemed to distort even the most familiar objects and the soft creaking and groaning as the old house settled for the night.

With every step she’d expected lights to blaze on and her father’s voice demanding to know what she was doing.

She supposed she’d have to say that she couldn’t sleep and was going to the kitchen to heat some milk. He’d believe her, because she’d never given him cause to do otherwise. Or not until now, she’d thought, her throat closing.

More than once she’d been tempted to turn back. To take refuge in her room and find some excuse that would placate Simon for her failure to show.

But I love him, she’d reminded herself almost feverishly. I should be wanting to make him happy, not pacify him.

When she was in his arms, she would feel differently. She was sure of it. Convinced that this little knot of coldness in the pit of her stomach would dissolve into something altogether warmer and more receptive.

And yet…

She’d have been lying to herself if she hadn’t hoped that her first time with Simon would have been more meaningful in some way. More romantic than these hasty and covert moments ahead of her.

Although, as she’d gathered from the conversation of her more sophisticated school friends, usually the first time was no big deal. Merely something that needed to be got out of the way, so that more pleasurable experiences could follow.

There was also the vexed question of birth control. Emily reckoned uneasily that she was the only girl in the sixth form not to be on the pill. But would Simon have guessed this and made his own arrangements, or would she have to pretend everything was all right—and risk the consequences?

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Her father would be angry and disappointed with her, of course, but as she and Simon were planning to be married anyway, would it really be so awful if the wedding date had to be moved forward because she was pregnant?

Well, the short answer to that was yes. Because it was the last thing she wanted to happen.

The situation would be much easier to handle if Simon’s career wasn’t currently on hold, she thought forlornly. How could he cope with a wife and baby without a regular salary or a home of his own?

Her father might offer him something, she supposed, but she wouldn’t count on it. Not if he had Simon foisted on him as a son-in-law before they’d even had a chance to become properly acquainted, let alone friends.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the conservatory and slipped inside like a small, quiet ghost.

It was one of her favourite places in the house, its warmth like a blanket, enveloping her in comfort. She stood still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing the raw earthy smells and listening to the familiar muted hum of the heating system.

There was no other sound. No movement either. And Emily realised with something very like relief that Simon wasn’t there.

But perhaps she should allow him a few minutes’ grace, she thought reluctantly. After all, she couldn’t go to bed leaving the outside door unsecured, yet she certainly didn’t want him arriving late either, rattling at the lock and wakening the entire household in a frustrated attempt to gain access.

Oh God, I should never—never—have agreed to any of this, she groaned inwardly, sinking down on a bench next to the miniature palms and peering at the face of her watch in the gloom. I’m not the stuff conspirators are made of.

She sat tensely, hands clasped in her lap, willing the moments to pass more quickly.

When she saw Simon next, she would pretend it had never happened, she told herself. She’d tell him her father had been on the prowl, and she hadn’t dared leave her room. Hope that he hadn’t had a wasted journey.

She was just getting to her feet when she realised that the door to the garden was opening silently to admit the dark figure of a man.

For a brief second she froze in the realisation that it was too late to slip away.

This is Simon, she reminded herself urgently. This is the man you love and want. And it’s time to commit yourself to that love, once and for always.

She drew a breath, then went to him, running, flinging herself into the arms that instantly closed about her as she lifted her face for his kiss.

But, instead of the passionate demand she’d expected, he was almost restrained, keeping his ardour well in check, and Emily was grateful for it.

Eyes shut, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the cool, gentle brush of his lips against hers, his exploration of the soft contours of her mouth as if this was strange, uncharted territory to him.

As if…

And in that same moment, she knew with total clarity that this was wrong—all wrong. That the hard male body she’d pressed herself against so ardently was taller, leaner than Simon’s, and altogether more muscular. That she was not being held and kissed as Simon held and kissed her. And that this man even smelled differently, Simon’s familiar brand of aftershave having been replaced by something infinitely more subtle and expensive.

But only too recognisable, just the same…

Oh, God, she whimpered in silent horror, as realisation dawned. Oh, God, it’s—him.

Gasping, she tore her lips from his and pushed at him violently.

‘Let go of me.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Let go of me at once, damn you.’

‘You mean this entrancing welcome is not intended for me, after all?’ Rafaele Di Salis asked mockingly. ‘I am desolate.’

But he relaxed his clasp sufficiently for Emily to take an uneven step backwards, out of range. At the same time, he clicked the switch by the door and the overhead light went on, catching her in the act of scrubbing violently at her mouth with her hand in an attempt to remove any lingering traces of his kiss.

To cover her confusion, Emily went into attack mode. ‘What do you think you’re doing—creeping into the place like a burglar?’

His brows lifted sardonically. ‘Are you saying that you mistook me for a thief—and not Simon Aubrey?’

‘Simon,’ she said curtly, ‘need not concern you.’

‘Ah, but he does, Emilia. Because I fear that he will not be able to keep his appointment with you tonight, after all.’

She stiffened. ‘He told—you that?’

‘No.’ Rafaele Di Salis shrugged. ‘I told him so, when I encountered him in the garden a short while ago.’

She gasped. ‘You were spying on us?’

‘I had just returned from driving Signorina Aubrey home and heard him crashing through the shrubbery as I walked back to the house. He is fortunate there are no dogs on the premises, or he would have woken the whole household—including your father.’ He allowed a significant pause. ‘I persuaded him that his visit was—inappropriate and he left.’

She said chokingly, ‘And what gives you the right to interfere in my affairs?’

‘You mean there have been others?’ He tutted. ‘And I would have sworn that Simon Aubrey was the first.’ He glanced round. ‘And I must tell you, cara, that this is hardly the most comfortable setting for so momentous an event as losing your virginity.’

For a long moment Emily was incapable of speech, aware that every inch of her skin was burning with embarrassment.

At last she said hoarsely, ‘You are—disgusting.’

He laughed. ‘No, merely practical. Besides, your would-be lover seemed in no mood for a tender seduction when I met him just now. Frankly, he appeared ill-tempered. And, when I arrived at his uncle’s house earlier, it was clear there had been a family disagreement of some magnitude in which he was involved.’

‘That is none of your business!’