The Italian Count s Defiant Bride Read online

  ‘Something cold, please.’

  When Alicia emerged from the bathroom with her own dressing gown tied securely over fresh night things, the bed was immaculate again. She detangled wet strands of hair with a comb, hoping her taming solution would do its thing quickly, then smiled ruefully as she heard Francesco’s discreet knock on his own bedroom door.

  ‘Come in.’

  He came in with a tray of drinks, eyeing her closely. ‘You are better now?’

  ‘Much better. Sorry to make such a fuss.’

  He set the tray down on the small table beside her. ‘It is obvious that something caused such a dream, Alicia. You have quarrelled with Gareth?’

  ‘Not quarrelled, exactly,’ she said carefully. ‘We had a misunderstanding.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Recently. But it’s sorted now.’ At least she hoped it was.

  ‘Bene. If you will get into bed I shall give you your drink.’

  ‘I’ll just sit in the chair for a bit while my hair dries. I’d hate to spoil all your good work with the bed.’ She sat down, deliberately bringing her dimples into play as she smiled at him. ‘I’m impressed, Francesco.’

  ‘Because I can make a bed?’ He grinned, looking suddenly like the young Francesco of the action photograph. ‘You think I am not capable of such things?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re capable of a great many things, Francesco, but you and household chores are an unlikely combination.’

  He handed her an ice-filled glass of orange juice. ‘At the castello I do none of these things, but here in my appartamento I live my other life, with no servants but more freedom. It is still my bolt hole, Alicia.’

  ‘I just can’t picture you dusting and sweeping.’

  ‘The caretaker’s wife does that for me. But,’ he added virtuously, ‘I change my bed myself.’

  Alicia laughed, her eyes dancing. ‘So you’re not really domesticated at all.’

  ‘You require such skill from the men in your life?’

  ‘It’s not mandatory. But these days so many women juggle careers with families that a lot of men, even hunky rugby players, are more domesticated than they used to be. Which is only fair.’

  ‘Davverro.’ Francesco sat on the edge of bed. ‘Do you wish to do such juggling with your life, Alicia?’

  ‘At the moment my job is more than enough for me.’ She finished her drink and put the glass on the tray. ‘Thank you. That was exactly what I needed.’

  ‘You are feeling better now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then per favore, Alicia,’ he said urgently, ‘tell me about this misunderstanding with Gareth that gives you nightmares. He is not pleased about your return to Montedaluca?’

  She pulled a face. ‘No, he most certainly isn’t. He made a special trip to ask—beg—me not to come.’

  Francesco’s mouth tightened. ‘He hates me, no? And he is crazy about you, Alicia. When you left me I was sure he would persuade you to marry him.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Were you? I never had the slightest idea—’ She stopped, shivering, and Francesco took a blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed and tucked it around her.

  ‘You are cold. It is the reaction,’ he said, and resumed his seat on the edge of the bed. ‘But I am amazed that you did not know how Gareth felt about you.’

  She shook her head. ‘To me he was always just as much my brother as Megan’s.’

  ‘But he does not think of you as his sister.’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  There was silence for a moment, then Francesco sent her pulse into orbit. ‘After you divorce me will you marry him?’ He eyed her in consternation as her face whitened, and slid to his knees beside her to take her hand. ‘You feel ill? What is wrong, tesoro?’

  Alicia grasped his hand tightly, glad of the hard, warm contact.

  ‘If there is something I can do tell me,’ he ordered. ‘Anything to take that look from your eyes, Alicia. You are worrying me.’

  She thought long and hard, and at last looked into the brilliant, watchful eyes, her decision made. ‘Francesco, I am going to trust you with a secret you must swear never to tell anyone.’

  The eyes narrowed. ‘You have my word as a da Luca, Alicia. And now you are worrying me even more. It is so very bad, this secret?’

  ‘Perhaps secret is the wrong word. It’s more a problem,’ she said quietly. ‘Do get up, Francesco.’

  ‘I will, because since the rugby my knee gives me the twinges sometimes,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘But you must not tell, because this is my secret. Very bad for my image.’

  Alicia managed a smile. ‘Disastrous!’

  He resumed his place on the edge of the bed. ‘That is better. You have a little warmth in your face now. And I am delighted to see your freckles again, cara.’

  ‘How you do go on about my freckles!’

  ‘At this moment I am more interested in this secret of yours.’ His eyes narrowed again as comprehension dawned. ‘Ah! You have finally solved the mystery of your father, no?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alicia took in a deep, steadying breath and began to tell him, slowly and carefully, the bare bones of her mother’s story. Francesco sat utterly still, listening intently to every word, then slid down to his knees again to take her hand.

  ‘So what is the problem with Gareth?’

  Alicia shivered. ‘When Gareth came to beg me not to go to Montedaluca he—he tried to make love to me.’

  ‘Santo cielo—so this is why you had the nightmare!’ Francesco pulled her to her feet. ‘Come sit by me on the bed so I can hold your hand.’

  Alicia obeyed so reluctantly, Francesco smiled at her sardonically.

  ‘Do not worry. I shall not make Gareth’s mistake.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’

  ‘Do you?’

  She nodded. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to stay here in the apartment with you, Francesco.’

  ‘Grazie!’ His smile was wry as he took her hand again. ‘So what did your mother say when you told her of this love-making?’

  ‘She decided to tell me, at last, who my biological father is to stress how different her life would have been without Eira and Huw’s support, not only when she was pregnant, but all the years since. She’s desperate to save them pain over this problem with Gareth and me. A problem Bron has always been worried about, apparently.’

  ‘But not you?’

  ‘No, never. Which is why it was such a shock when he kissed me like that.’ She felt Francesco tense.

  ‘He did not—hurt you?’ he asked carefully.

  ‘No. My problem was trying to hide how much the kiss appalled me.’

  ‘Dio! It is an unusual problem. Did your mother give you advice on how to deal with it?’

  ‘She told me to acquire a lover as soon as possible.’

  ‘No!’ said Francesco flatly. ‘Why a lover when you have a husband? The solution is simple—just tell Gareth that we are together again.’

  Alicia turned to look at him. ‘He won’t believe it.’

  ‘We can very easily make him believe it,’ he assured her with supreme confidence. ‘We shall simply make it known that we are no longer separato.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I can just imagine his reaction to that! In fact, Gareth was worried that if I went to Montedaluca you might lock me up in your castello, where anything might happen, according to him.’

  Francesco’s eyebrows rose. ‘He is a reader of Gothic fiction?’

  She grinned at the mere idea. ‘No. Rugby biographies are his literature of choice. But where you’re concerned he tends to lose his temper too easily. He even threatened to do damage to your pretty face.’

  Francesco snorted. ‘He can try! But I am serious, Alicia. Your mother’s idea is an excellent one. But instead of a lover she can break the news that you are staying here in Montedaluca for a while. With your husband.’

  ‘You mean we pretend for a while until Gareth cools off?’

  ‘Davver
ro. When you go home I shall go with you, and make my peace with your mother. Then Gareth will be convinced that we are reconciled, no?’

  ‘It sounds like a lot of trouble for you,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘Not as much trouble as you once caused me, sposa mia!’ He eyed her sternly. ‘But this time no running away, Alicia. No matter what Gareth believes, I will not keep you in the castello against your will. When you wish to finish the pretence, just tell me.’

  ‘All right,’ she said, not at all sure what exactly she was agreeing to. Suddenly everything seemed too much to cope with, and she yawned widely. ‘Sorry! These broken nights are putting years on me.’

  Francesco shook his head. ‘You look no older tonight, carina, than you did at eighteen. I am delighted to see your freckles again—forgive me for mentioning these again. I have great fondness for them.’ He got up and turned down the covers. ‘Now is the time to forget about dark secrets and just sleep. But if you have bad dreams,’ he added, ‘I shall come to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, fervently hoping the need wouldn’t arise.

  ‘Come. Let me take the dressing gown.’ He smiled as she shook her head. ‘Ah. You are afraid to remove it for fear I take advantage of our new arrangement.’

  She made no attempt to deny it. ‘Goodnight, Francesco.’

  He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Buona notte, Alicia.’

  The moment the door closed behind him she stripped off the dressing gown and slid into the fresh, cool bed with a sigh of relief. But she left the bedside lamp on as her candle against the dark.

  Alicia surfaced again to the wonderful smell of coffee and a tap on the door, and shot out of bed to wrap herself in her dressing gown and push her hair behind her ears.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Buongiorno.’ Francesco, hair damp from a shower, smiled as he came in with a tray. ‘Did you sleep, Alicia?’

  ‘Good morning. I went out like a light. Unlike this one.’ Embarrassed, she switched off the bedside lamp. ‘I couldn’t cope with the dark last night.’

  ‘It is not surprising.’ Francesco put the tray down, eyeing her closely. ‘You look better. No more dreams?’

  ‘No. If you give me five minutes to wash and brush my teeth, I’ll be with you.’

  ‘Hurry, or I shall eat all the pastries,’ he warned.

  Alicia rejoined Francesco quickly, growing more conscious by the minute that this visit was proceeding along vastly different lines from the ones she’d intended. For years she had thought of Francesco, when she allowed herself to think of him at all, as the villain of her story. But since they’d met up again his role had begun to change. Considerably.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ asked Francesco as he filled the coffee cups.

  ‘That this is not what I expected.’

  ‘This?’

  ‘You and me, together here like old friends, instead of—’ She stopped short, biting her lip.

  ‘Enemies.’ He seated her in one of the chairs he’d pulled up to the table. ‘Perhaps you are now able to think of me without remembering the tragedy of our parting.’

  ‘Tragedy?’

  The brilliant eyes held hers. ‘When a man causes such hurt to his bride she runs away on their wedding night what else is it? There is some other English word that describes it better?’

  Alicia drank some of the heavenly coffee and took a brioche. ‘Probably not. But since we’re on the subject of our wedding night, Francesco, it’s time you knew exactly why I slapped on the make-up and decked myself out in that extraordinary garment. It wasn’t my idea. I’d been given precise instructions on how to make myself more alluring for you.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘But when you saw the result you looked ready to throw up.’

  ‘Throw up?’

  ‘Vomitare?’

  He nodded, his eyes narrowed and intent. ‘You said instructions—who gave you these?’

  Alicia refilled their cups, wondering whether he was up to the truth. But it was time he knew. ‘Your mother.’

  ‘Cosa!’ Francesco looked as though he’d taken a blow to the stomach. ‘My mother told you to paint yourself like a puttana?’

  ‘Not personally. She sent Cinzia to me with a gift just before we left the castello, with instructions to open it in Paris.’ Alicia’s mouth twisted. ‘I was so pathetically pleased that your mother had given me a present, I even thanked her warmly as we said goodbye. But I was shocked rigid when I opened the package. And absolutely astounded when I read the instructions that went with the nightgown. But, because it was your mother’s advice on what my bridegroom would expect, I took it as gospel and followed it to the letter.’

  Francesco shook his head vehemently. ‘Alicia, it was a mistake. My mother would never give you such a—a garment.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would believe me.’

  ‘Did you keep the note?’

  Alicia’s mouth curled in distaste. ‘Are you serious? I flushed it down the lavatory before I ran.’

  ‘I am not surprised.’ He frowned. ‘By the time I collected my mother to travel to Cardiff to look for you, she had dismissed Cinzia. I was too devastated about you to care, or to ask why.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘I did not like the girl.’

  Alicia’s lips twitched. ‘Did she fancy you, perhaps? She was very pretty.’

  ‘She once offered herself to me, yes.’ Francesco looked down his nose in distaste. ‘I refused.’

  ‘Before I arrived in Montedaluca?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She was one of the people who was most hostile to me. I see why now.’

  ‘I swear I did not encourage her!’

  ‘You didn’t have to. You’re a very attractive man, Francesco.’ She smiled. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t have kept your photograph on my bedroom wall.’

  His eyes lit with pleasure. ‘I had forgotten that. Do you still have it?’

  She hadn’t the heart to lie. ‘Yes. It’s stored in a box with all my rugby pin-ups.’

  ‘So I am one of a crowd.’ He shrugged. ‘That is better than torn to pieces and thrown away.’

  ‘Let’s get back to Cinzia,’ said Alicia. ‘You think the instructions were from her?’

  ‘I do. Indubbiamente. Also that disgusting garment. I got rid of it before I left the hotel.’ Francesco looked at her steadily. ‘You were everything I wanted in a bride just as you were, Alicia. You had no need to—to embellish—is this the word?’

  ‘“Bedizen” is more like it!’ She shook her head. ‘But at the time I was in too much of a state to even wonder why your mother gave me such a thing. Maybe Cinzia bought it to make me look ugly for you.’

  ‘We shall never know. She left Montedaluca when my mother sent her away from the castello. I have not given her a thought since. Perhaps Giacomo might know.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Francesco. It’s too late to bother about her now.’

  ‘It is best for her that I do not find her,’ he said grimly.

  ‘We don’t know that she was to blame.’

  ‘She had to be,’ he said with conviction. ‘I cannot believe that my mother was guilty of such a thing.’

  ‘I admit, I find it hard myself.’ Alicia looked at her watch. ‘What time should we be setting off? I need a shower and time to wrestle with my hair.’

  ‘Is an hour long enough for you?’

  ‘Of course. By the way, where did the pastries come from?’

  ‘I went out to buy them while you were sleeping.’ Francesco smiled smugly as he collected the tray. ‘But I made the coffee with my own hands.’

  The journey to Montedaluca took less than an hour, but Alicia wished it could have been twice as long when the ancient town walls came into view. In spite of Francesco’s promise that things would be different, the butterflies in Alicia’s stomach were on the rampage as they drove past the car parks used by visitors and entered through the old Roman arch. There were smiles and waves as Francesco’s car was recognised. Alicia’s tension mounted as they pas
sed the main square with its central fountain, and the small, elegant hotel where she had stayed with her mother and the Davies family the night before the wedding. The narrow streets leading from it had shops that kept the inhabitants supplied with food, and others that stocked expensive gifts for the tourists that thronged the town at this time of year. Alicia’s fingernails bit into her palms when they reached the cathedral, but her spirits sank even further as they left the town to take the steep, winding road to the castello.

  Francesco drove very slowly up the winding, cypress-lined approach to the castle. Above the dark, pointing fingers of the trees the ancient towers loomed against the brilliant blue sky, looking even more forbidding to Alicia now than the first time she’d seen them. Francesco parked at the foot of the worn, marble stone steps leading up to the massive door, and Giacomo immediately appeared and hurried to greet them.

  ‘Benvenuto contessa.’ The neat, ageless man smiled warmly at Alicia as Francesco took her hand to help her from the car.

  ‘Grazie. Com’esta, Giacomo?’ she returned after a split second of surprise.

  He assured her he was well, and seized the bags Francesco had taken from the car. He confirmed that all was also well within the castello, and the ladies were waiting on the terrace where lunch would be served in thirty minutes, if that was convenient for la contessa.

  ‘Is it, Alicia?’ asked Francesco, the gleam in his eye betraying that he knew she was taken aback, both by the welcome and the use of her title. ‘Tell the ladies that we will go up to our room with the luggage and will be with them shortly,’ he told Giacomo, and, still keeping her hand firmly in his grasp, led Alicia across the lofty hall.

  Nothing had changed. The walls—which instead of the stern, unembellished stone she’d pictured before her first visit—were still painted the same soft ochre-red, with great sconces at intervals big enough to accommodate dozens of candles. Twin staircases branched up to a gallery with a formal drawing room and dining room leading off it, and at either end the towers which housed the bedrooms. Which one, Alicia wondered, had been allotted to her? Instead of taking her luggage to the guest room she’d occupied before the wedding, Giacomo turned in the opposite direction to the suite of rooms she’d used just once, so exhausted by the demands of her long wedding day that she’d slept without even knowing that she’d shared a bed with her bridegroom.