The Italian Millionaire’s Marriage

CHAPTER SIX

STANDING in the receiving line Harriet thought the guests would go on forever. There were a number of banking ‘big names’ and some of Marco’s most important clients, but there were also a lot of titles, Countess this, Princess that, Duke, Baron. This was society with a capital S.

Where it wasn’t titled, it was wealthy. Harriet guessed that half the bank vaults in Rome must have disgorged their contents of family jewels. Tiaras, rivières, bracelets, earrings, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, each one signifying that its wearer would compete in riches with any other woman there.

As she could herself, she realised. The glowing gold that Marco had fastened around her neck was, in itself, a declaration. And so was the ring. She shuddered at the thought of wearing a ring worth a ‘mere’ ten thousand in this company. The one now weighing down her hand informed the world that Marco Calvani’s chosen bride was a woman who commanded his respect, and therefore must command theirs.

The women seemed young or middle-aged, most of them older than they looked because they had time and money to spend fighting the years. They were dressed in the height of luxurious fashion, not merely to look good but to make a statement. Not a fashion statement. Something else.

Beware!

That was it.

There was a frisson in the air, a sense of danger, and suddenly she could hear Olympia’s voice saying, ‘Marco’s known as a lady-killer, with the emphasis on killer.’

They were watching her with hungry, glittering eyes. Curiosity, jealousy, cynicism? All these and more. Lust, envy, memories, anticipation. Some of these bold-eyed creatures had been his lovers, and wanted her to know that. And they were frankly calculating how long she could keep him faithful. Not long, some of them were doubtless thinking. They wanted her to know that, too.

She was in the lion’s den.

A spurt of anger inspired her to raise her head and straighten her shoulders.

No matter that this engagement might soon be over. Tonight, at least, he was officially hers, and she would defend her right to him.

‘Are you all right?’ Marco asked, glancing at her.

‘Fine. Never better,’ she assured him.

‘I believe you. This is a jungle, but you’re strong.’

‘I’m not scared, but perhaps they should be.’

‘Yes,’ he said, giving her one of his rare, brilliant smiles. ‘Come,’ he led her onto the floor as the music started. ‘Let’s tell them what they want to know.’

And they told those hot-eyed, resentful women exactly what they wanted to know, dancing close, head to head, body to body, hips moving together, seemingly lost in each other.

It was false, Harriet thought; all put on for the crowd. But the pleasure that came from just being near him was there again, infusing her limbs as they moved against his. The low-cut dress was revealing, but instead of being embarrassed, as last time, now she felt pride. She had come to believe that she was worth looking at, and she wanted this man to think so, too.

He did, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by. He seemed transfixed by her creamy bosom, her long neck, her bold eyes.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want you to dance with anyone else.’

‘Then I won’t,’ she said, smiling.

‘Unfortunately you must, and so must I.’

‘Yes, or all those women are going to be so disappointed.’

‘Forget them.’

She laughed, so close to his face that her breath warmed him, and she felt him tremble. ‘They don’t want to be forgotten.’

‘Forget them,’ he said again. ‘That’s an order.’

‘You give orders very easily, but it’s unwise of you to tell me what to think.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why is it “unwise”?’

‘Because you should never give an order you can’t enforce. How will you ever know if I’m doing what you want?’

His brow lightened. ‘I shall just take it for granted that you’re not. Then I can’t go wrong.’

‘You understand me almost as well as I understand you,’ she teased.

‘And what am I?’

‘A tyrant.’

‘And you’re a witch.’

The music was coming to an end. He had just time to give her a wry look before they passed on to other partners.

The dances slid by, Count Calvani, Guido, Leo, then the local dignitaries, until finally she came to Baron Orazio Manelli.

She’d met him briefly at the start of the evening. He was younger than she had expected, middle-aged rather than elderly, strongly built with a fleshy face and a haughty expression. She’d written to him so often that she wondered if he would react to her name. He gave her an appraising look but it was hard to be sure what it meant.

Now he approached her and asked her to dance, with a look in his eye that told her he’d remembered.

‘I wondered why your name was familiar,’ he said genially as they took the floor. ‘You’ve been writing to me.’

‘For two years now. Everyone knows your art and sculpture collection is fabulous but you hide it away.’

‘My father and my grandfather were collectors. Me, I like to spend my time among the living, not the dead. Why should a beautiful young woman like you want to bury herself in the past?’

‘I love it. It’s my life.’

‘Not your whole life surely? Your husband will want your attention.’

‘And he’ll have it,’ she said demurely. ‘Within reason.’

He laughed so loud that heads turned. ‘Marco won’t let you get away with that.’

‘Who says I’ll ask him? I shan’t stop being an antiquarian just because I’m a wife.’

He gave a throaty laugh. ‘I’m beginning to like you. Perhaps we should talk some more.’

‘About your collection? And me coming to see it?’

‘How can I refuse you?’ Somebody jostled him from behind. ‘Can we go to a place that’s less crowded?’

It couldn’t do any harm to slip away just for a moment, she reasoned. They would go into the next room, where the party was also taking place, but where there were fewer people. But next door somebody was singing a song, so they went on further, until they reached the garden and found a bench under a tree from which hung coloured lights.

Manelli began to talk of gold, vases, jewellery, spreading a carpet of wonders before her so that her inward eyes were dazzled. The outside world slipped away. Harriet forgot where she was and what she should be doing. Time passed unnoticed as new worlds opened before her.

‘But you shouldn’t hide all this away,’ she said fervently at last. ‘With treasures like yours you should let the whole world in to see them.’

He took her hand between his two. ‘One day soon you must come to my house, and it will be my pleasure to show you everything.’

‘That would be wonderful,’ she breathed, closing her eyes in a happy dream.

But the dream was shattered by a cold voice. ‘You are neglecting our guests cara.’

It was Marco, standing before them, his mouth stretched in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze was fixed on her hand, tenderly enfolded between those of the Baron.

‘Forgive us,’ Orazio said smoothly, rising but not releasing her. ‘In my wonder at discovering a lady so full of wisdom and learning, as well as so beautiful, I forgot my manners and monopolised her. May I say, Marco, how profoundly fortunate you are to have secured the affections of this delightful-’

Harriet’s lips twitched. It was an outrageous performance, but an amusing one. Then she stole another look at Marco’s face. He didn’t find any of this funny.

‘You have already conveyed your congratulations, for which I thank you,’ Marco said in a wintry voice.

His stony gaze was fixed on Harriet’s hand, which she quickly disentangled from Orazio, who managed to kiss it before letting go.

‘I live in anticipation of your visit,’ he said, ‘and the time we will spend together.’

Marco’s lips tightened. Harriet wanted to say, ‘Don’t let him tease a rise out of you. Can’t you see he’s doing it on purpose?’ Instead she slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and walked back to the house with him.

‘Don’t be angry,’ she said in a coaxing voice.

‘Not angry?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Do you realise that it’s nearly midnight?’

‘Oh, goodness, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been gone so long.’

‘Perhaps we can discuss that later,’ he said in a tight voice.

It astonished her to realise that he was taking this seriously. He knew she cared only for the treasures in Orazio’s home. He was sophisticated. He should have been able to shrug it aside. But his cold fury left no doubt that this had flicked him on the raw.

They had begun to climb the steps that led up to the broad terrace that ran along the side of the house.

‘Marco-’

‘Let’s not talk about it now. Our guests must see us in perfect accord.’

‘Not if you’re glowering at me.’

‘I’m not. This is much simpler.’

The party had spilled out into the garden, from where the guests had a grandstand view of the terrace, and of Marco suddenly sweeping his bride into his arms and covering her face with kisses.

‘I don’t think-’ she managed.

‘Shut up,’ he said savagely. ‘Shut up and make it look good.’

Cheers rose from the garden as he tightened his arms in a rough simulation of desire and Harriet gave herself up to his embrace. She wouldn’t have chosen it like this but she had a guilty feeling that she’d treated him badly and should help him save face.

If only he wouldn’t hold her so tightly, kissing her again and again with a fierceness that looked like passion to the watchers, but which only she could sense was anger.

‘Marco, don’t-’ she murmured. ‘Enough.’

‘Yes,’ he said in a voice that shook. ‘That’s enough to convince them for the moment. Now we play the loving couple until the end of the evening.’

He loosened his grip and she swayed for a moment. Her head was spinning and she had to cling onto him. The guests, who’d crowded up onto the terrace, surrounded them, laughing and cheering at what they thought had happened. Some of the younger ones, their tongues loosened by wine, said what the rest were thinking.

‘Marco, you’ve made the poor girl faint-’

‘That’s the way to kiss the woman you love-so that she really knows-’

‘Now he wants to get rid of us quickly-’ Roars of laughter.

‘That’s enough of that,’ Lucia said, quelling the riot.

‘We were just congratulating him,’ one lad said, irrepressibly. ‘Now, if Harriet were mine-’

‘But she isn’t,’ Marco checked him. ‘She’s mine, and you’d be wise to remember it.’ His voice was light, almost friendly. Only a few of his listeners heard the undertow of steel, and one of them was the woman standing in the circle of his arms, who could still feel that he was trembling, as she was herself. As he spoke his arm instinctively tightened about her, and she knew the message was as much for herself as for them. It was a warning.

‘Bring some more champagne,’ Marco called. ‘Champagne for everyone.’

Servants hurried forward bearing foaming bottles, passing among the crowd until every glass was filled. Marco raised his hand for silence.

‘I am the luckiest man on earth,’ he said. ‘The most wonderful woman in the world has promised to be my wife. There can be no greater happiness than this.’

How could he say that? she thought, when he’d all but accused her of playing him false. How could she ever know what this man was truly thinking?

‘Raise your glasses, with me, to my bride!’

They all toasted her. Over the rim of Marco’s glass she saw his eyes, but couldn’t discern anything behind their smile.

Then the guests toasted the two of them and the evening ended in a riot of good fellowship. It took another hour for the long, shiny cars to come, one by one, to the front door, and carry the guests away, with the family standing on the steps to bid them farewell.

When the last car had gone Harriet closed her eyes, worn out but exhilarated. Now she must make things right between herself and Marco. But when she opened her eyes again there was no sign of him.

‘Don’t worry,’ Lucia said, seeing her look around. ‘He’s probably taken his cousins to his study for a whisky. Don’t wait up for him.’

Harriet agreed. It might be better to let his anger cool first. She kissed Lucia goodnight and went up to her room.

She meant to shower and go to bed, but she couldn’t. Something about tonight hadn’t ended yet. She reached behind her neck, trying to undo the clasp of the heavy gold necklace, while one level of her mind recited the usual commentary: French seventeenth century, genuine in gold, wrought in the style of-oh, who cares?

Who cared about anything except the look she’d seen in Marco’s eyes when he’d found her with the Baron? What did anything matter except what that look had meant?

And then she saw it again. She hadn’t heard him come into the room and the first she knew, he was there behind her, brushing her fingers aside so that he could undo the clasp. His face was so dark that she almost expected him to snatch the jewellery from her, but he removed the necklace quietly, although his fingers weren’t quite steady.

‘You’re not still angry,’ she coaxed. ‘It was such a wonderful evening.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he said, tight-lipped. ‘And yes, I’m still angry. You made a fool of me.’

‘Just because I got into conversation with-’

‘You disappeared from our engagement party with another man, and stayed away for nearly an hour,’ he grated. ‘Is that reason enough for you?’

‘Was it really that long? I lost track of the time and forgot about-’

It was the wrong thing to say. ‘You forgot!’ he snapped. ‘Thank you, that was all I needed.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Rage turned his voice to pure steel. ‘I appreciate that your ideas of behaviour are unconventional, but did nobody ever explain to you that a woman is supposed to prefer her fiancé’s company to that of any other man? If she can’t manage that she’s supposed to pretend. It’s polite. It’s the accepted thing. It stops him looking a complete fool in front of the whole world. Do you understand that?’

‘Of course I do. Oh, look, I’m sorry Marco, I really am. I didn’t mean to insult you, I just got carried away-’ she saw his face. ‘I’m making it worse, aren’t I?’

‘What you’re doing is proving how English you are,’ he said bitingly. ‘You think having an Italian name makes you one of us, but I tell you that the name is nothing. What matters is the Italian heart and you have no idea of that.’

Harriet stared, astounded that the cool, composed man she thought she knew could have said something so cruel. ‘How dare you say I’m not one of you!’ she flashed. ‘It’s my heritage as much as yours.’

‘Yes, you were born with warm Mediterranean blood in you, but it no longer speaks. Otherwise you’d know by instinct that it’s vital to a man how his woman treats him.’

‘I am not your woman.’

‘You are-’ he checked himself, then went on. ‘You are as far as people here are concerned. They think of us as a couple, but you think that means being “jolly good friends” as though a man and a woman were a pair of neuters. And only the English think like that.’

His face was like that of a stranger, watching her. ‘What is it? Can’t you bear the truth?’

‘It isn’t the truth,’ she cried.

‘It is the truth and you know it. You take refuge in a dead world because the living are too much for you. Your heart is fixed on the past where nothing matters and nothing can hurt. What do you know of pride, or love or passion? They’re just words to you.’

‘It was just carelessness,’ she cried. ‘It had nothing to do with love or passion-’

‘But everything to do with pride,’ he said bitingly. ‘My pride, that you humiliated in front of everyone. What were you talking about all that time?’

‘What do I ever talk about? Antiques. And you knew I was going to make a beeline for him, because I told you. You even said you’d help me get past his front door.’

‘You can forget that. You’re not setting foot in that man’s house.’

‘Are you giving me more orders?’

‘Let’s say I’m pointing out certain realities. He makes trouble between us. Knowing that, it’s inconceivable that you should seek his company.’

‘It’s not his company I want. It’s his art treasures.’

‘You won’t understand, will you? Then let me put it plainly. I forbid you to go to his house.’

‘You forbid-? You lay down the law from on high and I’m supposed to say, “Yes sir, no sir.” Boy, did you pick the wrong person! All right, I was away too long, and I’m sorry. It was inconsiderate of me. But everyone there tonight knows that this engagement was arranged. We’ve put on a good pretence, but there are no secrets in Rome, you told me that yourself. And if you’re going to talk about pride, what about mine? There was hardly a woman there tonight who didn’t-how can I put this delicately?-know you better than I do.’

‘Are you saying that was a kind of revenge?’ Marco asked, his eyes kindling dangerously.

‘No, of course not. But nobody thinks we really mean anything to each other-’

‘Mean anything to each other?’ he mocked. ‘What trouble you have with the word “love”.’

‘Love has nothing to do with this,’ she said angrily. ‘You can’t just change the terms when it suits you.’

‘The terms always included making things look convincing, and you broke them tonight. I want your promise that you won’t see him again whether I’m there or not.’

‘I’ll see him if I want to,’ she cried. ‘And the only promise I’ll make is that there’ll be no promises.’

‘I’m warning you-’

‘Don’t warn me. I’m not impressed.’

‘You won’t see him again, Harriet, I mean it.’

‘Or else what?’

‘You’ll find yourself on the first plane back to England.’

‘In your dreams. You may be able to throw me out of this house, but would you like to bet against my moving into an hotel and visiting Manelli every day?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t do that. It would be an unwise move, I promise you.’

‘Threats now!’

‘It’s not a threat, it’s a promise. Do I make myself clear.’

‘Perfectly, and now let me make myself clear.’ She pulled off the ring and held it out to him. ‘Is that clear enough?’

‘Be damned to you!’ With a swift movement he snatched the ring from her and hurled it away, not looking to see where it fell.

Stunned, she stared at him, realising how close he was to losing all control.

‘Marco, I want you to leave now.’

She turned away but his hands were on her shoulders, forcing her back to face him. ‘I haven’t finished.’ She tried to wrench herself free but he kept his hands in place until she gave up.

‘Let me go this minute,’ she said.

‘Perhaps you should take some of your own advice. Don’t give an order you can’t enforce. Unless you think you’re strong enough to fight me.’

She didn’t answer, just glared up at him from glittering, fury-filled eyes. Her struggles had caused some of her hair to fall and her cheeks were flushed. He looked her over slowly, and her wild appearance seemed to strike him, for he drew in a breath and began to pull her towards him, moving as in a trance.

‘Don’t you dare,’ she breathed. ‘Our engagement is over.’

‘No,’ he said, lowering his mouth. ‘It isn’t.’

She tried to resist but he slipped his hands down her arms, imprisoning them, giving her no choice but to accept his kiss. She’d teased him about insisting on his own way, but he was insisting now, and it was no laughing matter. This was dangerous because he had the power, which no other man had possessed, to excite her body until it turned against her, sapping her will, making her anger irrelevant.

He kissed her like a man whose knowledge of her was already so intimate that he could do as he liked. The devil himself might have kissed like that, his tongue driving into her mouth without warning, shocking, thrilling.

He knew how to use his tongue to tease and excite her, flickering it skilfully against the tender inside of her mouth, sending shivers of delight through her, then slowing, leashing himself back and her too, to her frustration.

‘How dare you!’ she said in a shaking voice. She was furiously angry with him for forcing this on her, and even angrier that he had stopped when her pleasure was building.

He didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure he’d even heard her. His face was dark, troubled, his eyes fixed on her as though asking some question that she didn’t understand. One hand moved slowly up her arm to her shoulder, her neck, the fingers entwining into her hair before he dropped his head to renew the assault.

Now her arms were free, and she could push him away, except that she lacked the will. His mouth drifted over her face, bestowing teasing kisses everywhere until he reached the tender place just beneath her ear, almost as though he knew that she was unbearably sensitive just there. She took a shuddering breath at the sweet, whispering sensation that trailed down her neck to her throat, then further to the swell of her breasts.

There was no chance to pretend now. He would sense the mad beating of her heart beneath his lips. He’d challenged her to fight him but she couldn’t fight the need of her own flesh that made her raise her hands, not to fend him off, but to clasp them about his head, drawing it closer. She was afire, craving more sensations that she’d never felt before with such totality. For perhaps the first time in her life she was living brilliantly, urgently in the present, and it was electrifying. A moan broke from her and she arched against him.

She felt him stiffen and become totally still. He raised his head, shaking it a little, as though wondering what was happening, then fixed his gaze on her face. She almost cried out at his expression. There was no triumph, as she’d expected, only a kind of torment.

‘Marco-’

‘If I ever catch you doing this with any other man,’ he said hoarsely, ‘I’ll-I’ll-’

She waited for him to finish, hearing his urgent, rasping breath and the thunder of her own heart. This was a new and bewildering Marco, tortured by some violent emotion that was close to destroying him.

‘You’ll do what?’ she whispered at last.

A shudder went through him. ‘No matter.’ His grip slackened and the blazing look went out of his eyes, leaving them strangely dead.

She clung to the furniture, feeling the world still rocking beneath her. ‘Perhaps it does matter,’ she suggested.

‘It does not,’ he said harshly, ‘because this is now closed. I apologise for alarming you.’

‘Marco-’

‘You have my word that it won’t happen again.’

‘Marco!’

She was looking at a closed door.