The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

CHAPTER NINE

IT WAS a relief to spend a few days in the Vatican museum. Absorbed in the world that had always sustained her, Harriet thought she would soon be able to forget Corzena.

But the talisman failed this time. Halfway through a fourteenth-century parchment she would find herself thinking of the door that had so nearly opened, and then closed.

Closed against her. That was the thing that hurt. Marco had tested the door just far enough to discover that she’d left it open for him. Then he had rejected her. What message could be clearer?

From their manner to each other on the drive home nobody could have discerned anything in the air. For him, there probably hadn’t been, she thought bitterly.

She returned home on the third evening to find Lucia eagerly looking for her.

‘Your father called,’ she said. ‘They’re back, and so anxious to see you. We’re all three invited to dine tomorrow night. I tried to call you and Marco but you both had your phones switched off. So I said yes for us all. Did I do right?’

‘Of course. My father! How did he sound?’

‘Thrilled by your engagement. He’s longing to see you. I found him almost likeable. I’m sorry, cara, I know he’s your father, but there it is. But if he’s good to you, I forgive him everything.’

Marco arrived for supper and heard the whole story.

‘It makes a tight schedule now we’re so busy getting ready to go to Venice for the weddings,’ Lucia observed. ‘But when I suggested putting it off until we returned he was most insistent that it must be tomorrow. Still, it’s natural that he should be eager to see you.’

‘It’s a tighter schedule than you know,’ Marco said. ‘After tonight I was planning to sleep at my office to get through everything that needs doing before we leave for Venice.’

‘I suppose you could always ask your uncle and Guido to delay their weddings?’ Harriet suggested in the satirical tone she often used to him.

‘True,’ Marco said, appearing to consider this seriously. ‘But they’re so unreasonable that they’d probably put their weddings before my clients.’

He smiled at her to show that he was sharing the joke. Harriet wondered if she really had been joking. This was the first time she’d seen him since Corzena, and he’d just told her that after tomorrow she wouldn’t see him again for days. To her dismay she discovered that it was a relief.

To cheer herself up she concentrated on the thought of her father.

‘Tell me everything he said,’ she begged Lucia.

‘Again? All right, cara, I understand. He asked after you many times, were you well, were you happy in your engagement, could he give you to Marco with an easy mind? All the questions a loving father asks.’

‘And which he’s waited a very long time to ask,’ Marco said drily. ‘I wonder what lies behind this.’

‘Does my father’s interest need an explanation?’ Harriet flashed.

‘His sudden interest does.’

‘I’m engaged. Isn’t that enough?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Now, it’s late and I must be going.’

She treated herself to a new gown for the following evening, elegant, figure-hugging black silk that made a perfect setting for Marco’s gift of a diamond tiara. The hairdresser settled it into her upswept hair.

She touched the diamonds, feeling how cold they were: as cold as his attempt to spoil the evening in advance by his sceptical remarks about her father. But why should he have done so? she wondered. He could be hard, unfeeling, but this had felt like a deliberate attempt to hurt her.

She and Lucia were to travel together in the chauffeur-driven car, while Marco drove straight there from work. The d’Estinos lived in Rome’s most fashionable quarter, near St Peter’s, in a street where most of the other buildings were embassies. As they arrived they could see Marco getting out of his own car. He glanced at Harriet’s magnificence and nodded.

‘I knew that tiara was right for you,’ he said. ‘Not every woman could wear it.’

As they approached the wide front doors, standing open, flooding the gardens with light, her father appeared, flinging wide his arms and bearing down on her. ‘Harriet, my dearest daughter. After so long.’

He embraced her in a bear hug, the first for years. He was wearing an overpowering cologne, and she had to fight not to flinch. He looked older than his years, and had put on too much weight, giving a strong impression of self-indulgence, and her acute instincts told her that there was something false and theatrical about this display.

But he was her father and she’d longed for this moment, so she smiled and told herself how wonderful it was.

He was all smiles to Lucia, and greeted Marco like a long-lost brother. Marco was, as always, courteous, but his manner lacked warmth. The older man’s obsequiousness disgusted him, and Harriet sensed it, even if her father didn’t.

Also unaware was his wife. Harriet saw that the wicked step-mother had vanished. In her place was a thin, brittle little woman, suddenly anxious to proclaim her connection to a step-daughter she’d previously despised.

Only Olympia behaved normally, cheeking Marco like a younger sister, embracing Lucia and Harriet, teasing everyone out of their unease.

As more guests arrived and Guiseppe d’Estino’s attention was taken up with greeting them, Harriet took her sister aside, resisting Olympia’s efforts to escape.

‘Darling I’m joint hostess, I really have a lot to do-’

‘You can do it when you’ve spent some time with me, little sister. Why does our father act as though he’s only just found out about my engagement?’

‘Because he has. That phone message you left for him when you arrived never reached him. Mamma made sure of that.’

‘But you knew at Manelli’s party,’ Harriet said. ‘Didn’t you-?’

‘No, I didn’t tell him, because I didn’t want him madder at me than he was already. He was furious when I turned Marco down. The title, you see.’

‘But it’s not Marco’s title.’

‘Darling, he’s a count’s nephew. Pappa’s a snob, and Mamma’s even worse. I really must be going, someone’s calling me-’

She danced away, leaving Harriet to digest what she’d read between the lines. Guiseppe wanted Marco in the family as the husband of his favourite daughter, but Olympia wouldn’t oblige. Then he’d remembered that Harriet was also his child, so she would have to do instead. She’d even been promoted to favourite offspring, now that she could be useful.

The party was in full swing. Her father made much of her, but even more of Marco, sometimes asking the same question several times when he ran out of inspiration. After her first severity of disappointment Harriet found herself feeling sorry for him. She was also growing more and more embarrassed to be introduced to people as, ‘My daughter Harriet, engaged to Count Calvani’s nephew.’

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did. Guiseppe launched into a speech about what a wonderful time ‘my dear child’ would have at the two weddings in Venice the following week. He would be thinking of her, he said repeatedly, and she must remember him to Count Calvani, ‘an old and dear friend’. Harriet grew cold with shame as it dawned on her that her father was hinting for an invitation to the weddings. So that was why this meeting couldn’t have waited.

She hardly dared look at Marco, but when she did his face was frozen into a mask of courtesy. At the first possible moment he excused himself and moved away. She wished the earth would open and swallow her up. Luckily Signor Carnelli was there, and he claimed her attention.

At the back of the house was a large, well-stocked conservatory, where several of the older guests had settled to talk. Seeing his mother, Marco drifted to the entrance where, from the other side of a bank of ferns, he heard a female voice, lofty, imperious.

‘An extraordinary young woman, and more English than Italian, despite her name. Frankly, Lucia, I wonder at you promoting such a match for your son. Harriet lacks finish, and she’ll never really be one of us.’

A hush fell as Marco appeared and stood there, taking the measure of the woman. She was the Baroness d’Alari, thin-faced, cold-eyed, a woman who made up in pride and spite what she lacked in almost everything else. The discovery that Marco had heard her made her fall silent, but from chagrin, not shame.

‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you, Baroness,’ he said, ‘that my fiancée isn’t trying to be one of anything? She is unique, a brave, original woman, with a style-and a mind-of her own. In short, she is exactly what I wish her to be.’

It was years since anyone had snubbed the Baroness, and she had no resources to cope.

‘I suppose it’s natural that you should defend her,’ she snapped, ‘but beware defending her too rudely, young man. I believe my husband is one of your more important clients.’

‘All my clients are important, and you must forgive me if I decline to discuss that matter with anyone but your husband,’ Marco said, anger glinting in his dark eyes. ‘If he wishes to take his business elsewhere, doubtless he will inform me. There are several other establishments where he will be gladly received. Excuse me.’

As he moved away Lucia rose and came after him, tucking her hand into his arm. ‘Well done, my dear boy! I never could stand that woman,’ she said happily. ‘The perfect end to a perfect evening.’

‘You’re not leaving already?’

‘Yes, I’m a little tired. The chauffeur will take me home, and you can bring Harriet on later.’

‘I think she’ll need to talk to you. I’m sure she’s seen the truth about tonight.’

‘Certain to. She blinded herself because she wanted to feel she still had a father, but she’s too intelligent to blind herself for long. Awful, snobbish little man! How Etta produced him I’ll never know. But the person she’ll need to talk to is you.’

‘Mamma-what can I say to her-?’

‘My son, if you don’t know how to comfort her when she’s unhappy, I can only say that it’s time you found out.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Marco,’ she said anxiously, ‘how are things between you and Harriet?’

He shrugged. ‘What can I tell you? She blows hot and cold. Sometimes I think she disapproves of me.’

‘Nonsense, how could she?’

He grinned, briefly boyish and delightful. ‘There speaks my mother.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight Mamma.’

The evening seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of Harriet. When Lucia said goodbye she wished she could have gone with her, but it was too soon. Lucia had the excuse of age, but her own early departure would be insulting.

Then Marco appeared beside her, carrying a much needed cup of coffee. ‘Bear up. I promise I’ll get you away soon.’

‘Was I that obvious?’ she said, accepting the cup gratefully.

‘You were looking as if you’d had enough.’

‘Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t offended any of your important business contacts.’

‘No, I did that. But it was worth it. I’ll tell you another time.’

‘Marco, my dear boy!’ It was her father, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’ve just said goodbye to your excellent mother. I understand, of course, that she needs to save her energy for the journey to Venice next week. Weddings can be so tiring, especially large weddings. Why I’ll bet they can’t even keep track of all the people they’ve invited-’

Unable to stand any more, Harriet slipped away, leaving Marco in her father’s clutches. She felt bad about that but she was ready to scream.

After an hour she found Marco beside her again. ‘That wasn’t very kind, but I don’t blame you,’ he said. ‘Come on, we’re leaving. Unless you’d prefer to stay.’

‘Get me out of here,’ she said with feeling.

It took nearly another hour to make their farewells, and Guiseppe walked with them to the car, talking non-stop. But at last they were on their way.

Harriet slumped silently in her seat as the car swung out of Rome headed for the Appian Way. Finally she roused herself.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘You knew as soon as you heard about the invitation. That’s what you were trying to warn me last night.’

‘I guessed there was a reason why he’d suddenly decided to remember that he was your father. I’m sorry. That was a sad business for you.’

The words were kind but he didn’t take her hand and his eyes were fixed on the road.

When they stopped outside the villa he said, ‘I won’t come in. I have to be getting back to my paperwork. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said huskily, and ran into the house and up the stairs. She wanted to be alone, and at the same time she wanted someone to be there. But there was no comfort to be found in Marco, and the sooner she finished with him the better.

In her room she tossed her bag aside and put her tiara back in its box. She stood at the window in the moonlight, feeling lonely and bleak. Tonight something had been taken from her that she knew she would never get back. It might have been a pointless hope, but she’d clung to it, and now it was over. Gradually she lost track of time and had no idea how long she’d been standing there when she heard the knock at her door. Outside she found Marco. He’d discarded his jacket and bow-tie, and was holding a vacuum jug and a mug.

‘I brought you something you need,’ he said, easing his way past her. ‘English tea.’

He set the mug down and poured out the tea, already milked. It was exactly as she liked it.

‘This was a wonderful idea. Thank you.’

She sat down on the bed, and he sat beside her. She met his eyes and found them very dark and kind.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said.

‘I changed my mind. I came into the house and waited for you to come back downstairs. I thought you might need to talk. When you didn’t return I-well, maybe I’m starting to understand you by now. I still reckoned you might need someone to listen. I’m quite good at that.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ she said softly. ‘But there’s nothing to say, is there? I’ve had something confirmed that I suppose I always knew. I should have faced it years ago. I thought I had. More fool me.’

‘You’re not going to make the mistake of minding what he says or does, are you?’ Marco chided her gently.

‘No, of course not. After all, he was saying all the right things, making a fuss of me, just as I always dreamed. Only-it wasn’t me he was making a fuss of. It was you. He’s just a petty snob. As he sees it I’ve snared myself a count’s nephew, so suddenly I’m his daughter again.’

‘Harriet, stop this,’ he urged. ‘You’re a fine woman, beautiful, brainy and strong. You’ve built an independent life on your own talents. You don’t need him. You never did.’

‘I know, I know. It’s silly isn’t it?’ Suddenly tears were pouring down her cheeks and she set the mug down hurriedly as her control deserted her. ‘Why should it matter after all this time? I’m not a child any more.’

She finished on a husky sob and at once his arms were about her, holding her firmly in the comforting embrace her father had never given her.

‘In a way you are,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘Your childhood is never really over. Its ghosts haunt you all your life.’

She clung to him, unable to stop crying now she’d started. The grief of years poured out and she could do nothing but yield to it.

‘He never loved me,’ she choked, ‘not really.’

‘He did at the start. Remember what you told me, how you two adored each other?’

‘Not even then. If he’d really loved me he couldn’t just have discarded me like that, could he?’

‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Some people love that way. Real enough at the time, but shallow. Others-do it differently.’ He laid his cheek against her hair and held her again, saying, ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ as another paroxysm shook her.

She tried to speak but she couldn’t get the words out coherently.

‘What is it?’ he asked gently, cupping her face and turning it up so that he could see her better. ‘Tell me.’

‘Nothing,’ she choked, ‘I’m all right now.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ He took out a clean handkerchief and dabbed her wet cheeks. Her hair was coming down over his hands.

‘What do I look like?’ she asked shakily.

‘Like a little girl who’s just found out her father doesn’t love her. But you won’t give in to despair. You know the world still has much for you.’

‘I don’t know what the world holds for me,’ she said huskily. ‘Right now I’m not really sure that I care.’

‘Never speak like that again,’ he said sternly. ‘I forbid it. Only weaklings say it doesn’t matter what happens, and you are strong, cara. You’re the kind of person who wrests life to your will.’

He looked down into her face for a moment, then he lowered his head and laid his lips on hers, keeping them still for a moment, then moving them very slowly. It was the lightest of touches, but it was enough to bring her to instant, eager life. Her own mouth began to move in helpless response, urging and encouraging him.

He had a moment of doubt, enough to make him raise his head and give her a troubled look. He’d come to her bedroom offering comfort, but not of this kind. Harriet saw the ‘man of honour’ in his eyes, threatening to restrain him.

She dealt with that man swiftly, slipping her hand behind Marco’s head and drawing him back down to where her warm, persuasive lips could tell him, without words, what she wanted. Now she was ready for him, her lips already parted, welcoming the entry of his questing tongue. The signal she’d given him had taken the brakes off his control and his fevered movements were telling her that now he felt free to do whatever he liked.

Good!

His tongue teased her own before starting a lazy exploration of her mouth. Her response was electric. No other kiss had ever been so thrilling, and it wasn’t enough. Now she had to have him in every possible way.

His mouth drifted down her neck and across her chest, and she drew in a long, shaking breath. It felt shatteringly good to have his lips there, where she’d so often longed to feel them, tracing the swell of one breast while his fingers outlined the other. Her neckline was low, but not low enough for him, for he made a sound of impatience at the resistance of the material. The next moment she heard the sound of tearing, felt the shock of cool air, and her breasts were free. Instantly she sensed all constraint fell away from her, as though her spirit too had flown free. This was the man she wanted. She wanted his love, and she wanted his passion, and she vowed to herself that if she couldn’t have one she was going to have the other.

He dropped his head between her breasts, rejoicing in their silkiness with his tongue, while his hand celebrated their shape with joy. Wherever he touched her the result was electric, sending shivers of sensation everywhere, along her arms, her legs, between her thighs.

The dress was torn to just below her breasts. As his fingers curled around the edge he met her glowing eyes. Reading consent in them, he tightened his hand and wrenched hard, ripping the dress open to the hem, revealing the whole length of her body. Half dazed she reached up for him, pulling at his black bow-tie, then the buttons of his shirt. He finished the job himself, tossing aside his clothes and pulling her against him while the remainder of her ruined dress slipped to the floor.

She wished the light was better, so that she could see him, but there was only the sensation of his nakedness pressed against hers, his hands exploring her intimately with slow, sensual movements that made her vibrantly aware in every inch of her own body.

She began her own exploration of him, discovering that his shoulders really were as broad as they seemed in an elegant dinner jacket, his spine as long and supple, his hips as narrow. Through her wild, whirling thoughts she promised herself that soon they would do this again, and she would know him better, know the caresses he liked and that provoked him. Meantime, she was learning and it was wonderful.

His fingers were on the soft insides of her thighs, making teasing promises that drove her half out of her mind. A long, soft moan broke from her and he moved slightly so that he could look into her wild face on the pillow, her magnificent hair spread out.

She thought she whispered his name, she wasn’t sure, but the next moment he was between her thighs, skilfully urging her to greater and greater passion until she was ready for the moment he entered her. And then everything was right, and perfect. Everything was as it was always meant to be, and she was a part of it for ever.

He moved strongly inside her, and while she felt the pleasure mounting she was aware that his hands were touching her face softly. She would hardly have believed he could be so tender but each caress was unbelievably gentle, so unlike the Marco who dominated his world, but hinting at the man she was sure lived deep inside him. And she could coax that man out, she was sure of it, just as he was reaching out to her now…

Then all thought was shut off as the pleasure took her over, shook her until she seemed to dissolve. The world flew apart into a million pieces, that flamed in the universe before drifting back together and reforming into a world that was no longer the same, would never be the same again.

She tried to speak but Marco’s fingertips were across her lips, his arms about her, his lips against her hair, murmuring reassurances. A heavy languor seemed to weigh her down until she fell into a deep sleep with his arms still about her.

As she dozed in the early morning she felt a slight disturbance in the bed next to her. Opening her eyes a crack she saw Marco rise and stand a moment in the grey light. Last night she’d felt his body but seen little of it. Now she saw him fully, the long legs, lean but with muscular thighs, the narrow hips with their unmistakable power. She remembered that power, how he’d used it to drive her to an ecstasy whose memory melted her again now. If he had reached for her, she would be his again.

Instead he dressed quickly, while she lay listening to the rustling movements, waiting for the moment when he would awaken her to say goodbye. Or perhaps he would simply kiss her, and she could put her arms about him. But then the movements stopped, and there was a long silence. She opened her eyes to see him standing in the window, his head sunk on his chest, the picture of a deeply troubled man. He seemed to be staring at the inner distance and seeing something there that disturbed him.

At last he straightened his shoulders and seemed to give himself a little shake, as though discarding thoughts that were no use to him. Then he walked out of the door.