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‘As long as you’re not violent or abusive I can cope with that.’
Valente’s black luxuriant lashes dropped down to conceal his startled gaze. For the first time he felt an acute stab of curiosity to know more about her marriage to Matthew Bailey. ‘I will be neither.’
‘We’re agreed, then?’ Caroline prompted anxiously.
There was a cool, unforgiving darkness in his measuring gaze. ‘We’ll get married as soon as it can be arranged.’
‘Did you mean it when you said you wanted a child?’ she whispered after the next course was served, for she was barely able to believe that he had agreed to her option.
‘Si, gioia mia. There has to be some advantage for me in the arrangement.’
In the circumstances it was crazy, but she felt hurt by the cold calculation of that declaration. He talked and behaved as if he wanted her at any cost, but quite evidently his intelligence ruled him more than his passion if he could say such a thing. She was outraged by his assumption that providing him with a child could be styled as an acceptable demand in any agreement. Yet she saw no point in arguing, because she was convinced that he would soon cancel their agreement and divorce her when she disappointed him in the bedroom. They would never get near the stage of conceiving a child, which meant that once again she would be letting him down. It was a thought that cut through Caroline like a knife. All of a sudden it seemed to her that no matter what she did, she did it wrong.
At the end of the meal Valente insisted on taking her home, accompanying her out of the hotel with a light hand at her spine and relieving her of the immediate anxiety that he might be expecting a more intimate demonstration of commitment from the woman he had just agreed to marry.
Midway through the journey he changed his mind about their destination. Her mother was with her father at the hospital, and the limousine headed there instead.
‘The sooner we tell your parents the better. Your father will have less to worry about,’ he stated confidently.
Caroline was mortified when her mother reacted with unconcealed delight to their announcement. Wealth evidently cancelled out all Isabel’s former objections to Valente. Caroline could not bring herself to look at Valente, but the look of acceptance and relief in her father’s shadowed eyes reinforced her belief that what she was doing was right in so far as it affected her family and the business. Beyond that level she refused to think.
On the way back to Winterwood, Valente discussed his plans for the house and the provision being made for a self-contained apartment on the ground floor which would be adapted to suit her parents’ needs. ‘They will, of course, be free to use the rest of the house when we’re not there.’
‘Where will we be?’
‘We’ll be based in Venice, but I inherited other properties from my grandfather.’
‘I didn’t know you had a grandfather alive—or one rich enough to own properties in the plural,’ she confided in great surprise.
‘I’ll fill you in some time.’ Valente lifted an almost languid hand and gently tucked a stray strand of pale hair back behind her ear. Brilliant dark eyes welded to her, he slowly lowered his handsome dark head. She stayed still and shut her eyes tight, a restive heat curling between her thighs, heightening her awareness. He brushed his lips slowly back and forth over hers and she quivered, parting her lips for him, curious rather than scared.
‘I want you very much, belleza mia. Tell your mother I won’t wait for a big fancy wedding. Assure her that I will cover any bill, no matter how outrageous, but that it has to take place within the next two weeks. My staff will assist.’ He dipped his tongue sensuously slowly into the tender interior of her mouth.
‘Two … weeks?’ Caroline gasped, jerking her head away. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘Impatient. I’ll apply for a special licence,’ Valente traded huskily, long fingers closing to her chin to steady her for a slow, deep kiss that went on for so long she felt dizzy. She marvelled that she liked his mouth on hers, the light pressure, the subtle seduction of his tongue, and she was also terrifyingly conscious of the hand he had braced on her thigh, of how easily he might push up her dress to access more intimate places. At the very thought of that, she tensed.
‘Of course there’s no reason why we should wait to share a bed, gioia mia,’ he added as he straightened and lifted his hand from her thigh. ‘But you want me to wait, don’t you?’
Her nerves as tight as piano wires, Caroline whispered shakily, ‘Yes … yes, I do.’
‘I’ve waited so long already, belleza mia. I’ll keep you in bed for a month when I finally get you there,’ he promised thickly.
And anguish washed through her, for she knew that he would soon be disillusioned and that he would hate her. She remembered how, five years earlier, she had once innocently longed for his lovemaking, even while holding back out of the fear that sex might be all he wanted from her. Shy though she had been, however, she had wanted that final intimacy and had never feared his passion. She’d had complete faith in him—a faith that had proved as reliable as shifting sand when it was challenged by others. That weakness was her fatal flaw, and telling Valente how afraid she had been back then that marrying him would be a bad mistake would only infuriate him. Then he would leave her, and she would lose him all over again. Her parents would be homeless, Hales Transport would close down, and her father would have to wait a long time for his surgery. Either way, no matter what she did, she would be responsible for everything that went wrong. He had said he admired loyalty. How much would he admire hers when she cheated him for the benefit of her family?
‘What’s up?’ Valente demanded, recognising the strain pinching her profile into tightness.
‘Nothing’s up.’
Caroline twisted to look at him. The moonlight arrowing into the back of the luxury car accentuated the strong angles and defined hollows of his hard handsome features. For the first time in more years than she wanted to remember she wanted to make physical contact with a man of her own volition. She wanted to smooth that aggressive jawline already roughening with stubble, trace that arrogant Roman emperor’s nose and that beautiful, brutally stubborn mouth. Without warning, as her tense fingers quivered with longing, it hit her like a tidal wave that the very idea of admitting her sexual inadequacy and watching Valente turn away from her in angry disgust was altogether more than she could bear. Fear of the future swiftly formed a cold hard knot inside her.
Joe Hales stared as Caroline descended the stairs in her wedding dress. It was a classic design, chosen because it would not swamp her small frame in an excess of fabric. Her gown had jewelled straps on the shoulders, and it fitted her like a glove to below the hip, where it flared into a fuller skirt. She wore a short veil, held by a silver tiara on top of her upswept hair.
‘You look as pretty as a picture,’ her father told her proudly, his eyes glassy with tears. ‘I don’t understand why your mother thought that you wearing a proper wedding gown would be in bad taste.’
‘Matthew,’ his daughter proffered, in one succinct word of explanation. ‘But, as you know, Valente wanted me to wear a gown.’
The older man’s eyes crinkled at the corners with wry amusement. ‘Your mother doesn’t like to be contradicted.’
‘Neither does he,’ Caroline remarked ruefully, thinking of the various tussles there had been over such decisions during the past two weeks, not to mention the outraged descent of Matt’s parents when they realised she was remarrying. Caroline had chosen to withstand the older couple’s condemnation with dignified understanding, but her mother had not been so tolerant of their interference.
Valente, unfortunately, was no more tolerant of views other than his own. He was determined to behave as if her first marriage had never happened, and had swiftly vetoed the suggestion of a civil ceremony with Caroline dressed in a suit in a pastel shade. On several occasions Caroline had been put in the thankless position of playing piggy in the middle between Valente and Isabel, who had craved more time in which to turn her daughter’s second wedding into the flashiest in local living memory. Never in her life before had Caroline been kept so relentlessly busy.
Valente had returned to Italy within days of agreeing to marry her, and he had ruled her by phone ever since, reeling off commands as if she was an employee rather than his bride-to-be. Almost all her possessions, including the contents of her workshop, had already been professionally packed and sent off to Venice. Her mother had wanted to stage an evening party after the wedding, but Valente had insisted that the bride and groom would be leaving in the afternoon for Italy. Koko, duly micro-chipped and inoculated for her travels, had been flown out in advance that very morning to Valente’s home.
Hales Transport was still in business, and a new warehouse was being commissioned—a comforting sign of an anticipated expansion in trade. In the same two-week period complex alterations to Winterwood had been agreed, after a lengthy meeting with an architect and her parents, who had had considerable input into the design of their new apartment. Joe and Isabel were overjoyed to be staying on at Winterwood, and delighted by the prospect of a modern and easily-maintained home. While the work on the house was being done they would be staying in a comfortable hotel at Valente’s expense. He had also instructed his staff to rehire their former housekeeper and gardener to take care of the property in the Haleses’ absence. As a final footnote to the speed and effectiveness of Valente’s virtual takeover of all their lives, her father was now scheduled for surgery at a private hospital the following month—Valente would be footing the bill.
The pre-nuptial agreement Caroline had had to sign had been rigorous in its detail. It had shocked her, covering as it did everything from infidelity to her allowance and the amount of travelling she would be allowed to do. If they had a child she would have to continue living in Italy even if the marriage ended in divorce. Every sin she might commit would affect the size of her divorce settlement, which was set for an amazing amount of cash. She had signed without arguing a single clause. If Valente honoured the promises he had already made, she expected nothing more from him.
But now that the wedding was upon her Caroline was as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks during the drive to the church. It was the same church at which she had failed to show up five years before. Valente had refused the suggestion that another venue might be preferable. A red carpet ran down the steps—probably one of the many ‘extras’ which Valente’s staff had organised. Photographs were taken as she entered the old building. She could not shake a daunting sense of déjà vu, because for years she had wondered what her life would have been like had she married Valente instead.
Glorious flowers embellished almost every visible inch of the rather austere interior of the church. She repressed the memories of her first wedding day, during which Matthew had begun to show his true colours. But Valente was not Matthew, she reminded herself furiously, striving to rouse herself and maintain an upbeat mood. Valente turned from the altar to look at her and all her anxiety momentarily died away. He looked gorgeous in his elegant grey morning suit, and his stunning dark golden eyes rested on her with an unconcealed appreciation that lit her up inside with relief and pleasure.
A little voice in her head whispered that he would not be feeling so generous by the end of the day, and even before she silenced that warning voice a shiver of premonition ran down her taut spine like a trickle of icy water. Valente might want her in a way that Matthew had not, but his desire would destroy their marriage before it even got off the ground.
The service was short and sweet. Valente held her hand firmly, slotting a wedding ring smoothly on to her finger. When they were pronounced man and wife, and he turned her round to kiss her, she was startled by the sudden intimacy, the crashing reminder that her body was no longer inviolable.
‘Your skin has turned to ice,’ Valente remarked half under his breath. ‘You must be cold, belleza mia.’
But she had only frozen when his mouth had come down hungrily on hers and the fear of how they would fare later that day had exploded back into her with double strength, making her skin clammy. She would not be his ‘beauty’ then, would she?
‘You look amazing, though. Who chose the dress?’
‘I did,’ she admitted with quiet pride. ‘Mum’s much too fond of frills and bows.’
Valente bent his handsome dark head lower and murmured huskily, ‘I’m especially fond of lace.’
Her pale skin washed tomato-red as that could only be a reminder of the distinctly intimate gift he had had delivered to her the day before. A set of ivory lingerie in silk and lace such as she had never seen before and certainly never worn: a cobweb-fine bra and knickers, teamed with a suspender belt and lace stockings and the all-essential bridal garter. She had felt quite sick looking at the set, even more intimidated when she’d forced herself to put the items on to wear below her dress. After all, no gift could have told her more candidly exactly what her bridegroom expected from her.
He wanted a fantasy woman who would parade half-naked for his enjoyment and be bold and adventurous in his bed. He had built her up in his mind into more than she felt she could ever be. A woman confident of her perfect body and her sexuality would enjoy wearing such lingerie to excite her man. But Caroline was afraid of male excitement, and all too well aware of her physical flaws, of her small breasts and slim hips that carried not a hint of the voluptuous femininity that so many men preferred.
‘You look like an ice queen … Smile,’ Valente instructed on the steps of the church, while his security men kept a bunch of photographers behind barriers. A crowd of journalists were shouting questions in a foreign language.
‘Why are all these reporters so interested in us?’ Caroline whispered. ‘Are they foreign?’
‘Italian. I’m very well known at home,’ he returned casually. ‘And my bride is naturally a source of interest as well.’
The reception was to be held at the same hotel where Valente had stayed. His physical reserve with her was fading fast by the time they got there, and the change in him sent her nervous tension rocketing. Her brain told her that he was now quite naturally treating her like a wife as he put an arm round her and drew her close, or when he covered her hand with his, or took her on to the dance floor and welded her so close to him it was a challenge for her to breathe. Sealed by the slow pace of the music to his lean, powerful frame, she became inordinately aware of his masculine response to their proximity.
‘I’m counting the hours until we’re alone together, cara mia,’ he imparted in a roughened whisper that sent her heart hammering into an all-out sprint. ‘All day we’ve been surrounded by people.’
‘Yes,’ she responded dry-mouthed, dreading the instant when she could no longer hide behind the presence of others.
He covered her champagne flute with his hand when a waiter attempted to top it up. ‘I want my bride wide awake,’ he teased, and she tried to produce a laugh and failed abysmally.
‘I don’t have a problem with alcohol,’ she whispered.
‘But you certainly do have a problem with food,’ Valente countered, taking her aback with that incisive comment. ‘You play with it but you never seem to eat it.’
‘I lose my appetite when I’m nervous … that’s all.’
‘What do you have to be so nervous about?’
‘Well, your guest-list for a start. There are some very important people here,’ Caroline pointed out, desperate to provide a credible excuse for her nerves.
Valente’s impressive guests ranged from Italian politicians and powerful international businessmen to a surprising bunch of very toffee-nosed cousins, who were behaving like aristocrats being forced to socialise with the lower classes. When she had asked him who they were and where they appeared on what he had once assured her was a very humble family tree, he had shrugged and given her no definitive explanation.
‘Don’t let anyone make you feel uncomfortable, tesora mia. This is your day. You are the most important person here,’ Valente had responded instead.
But Caroline felt more like a fake and a cheat, and her frame of mind was not improved by her mother’s comments while she was changing out of her dress into the sapphire-blue shift and beaded jacket that comprised her going-away outfit.
‘Just think,’ Isabel Hales urged. ‘You turned Valente down five years ago and inspired him into making a fortune so that he could come back and claim you!’
Caroline winced. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t turn up at the church then and I let him down badly.’
‘But that wasn’t your fault—’
Five years ago Valente loved me, she wanted to scream. But now she meant nothing more to him than a long-awaited sexual experience. And in that context she certainly would be new and different, she conceded painfully.
Shortly after his private jet took off Valente rested questioning ebony eyes on her and breathed, ‘What’s the matter with you?’
Taken by surprise, Caroline blinked in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s like someone has sucked all the life out of you,’ he imparted with frowning force, releasing his belt to stand up. ‘You’ve turned into the original walking, talking doll since we came out of that church this morning.’
Intimidated by his attitude, Caroline shrank back into her opulent leather seat. ‘It’s been a stressful couple of weeks …’
‘Per meraviglia! It was your wedding day!’ Valente retorted in a crushing tone of exasperation. ‘Isn’t this what you wanted? Marriage and all the frills?’
Caroline was so tense that she was almost hyperventilating, and her heart was thundering in her ears. She got his point—she really did! She had insisted on marriage when he hadn’t wanted it, but he had still laid on all the bridal trimmings and acted the part of gracious bridegroom. A walking, talking doll. She recognised that it was a cruelly apt label for her stiff reserve so far today. Although in some ways he did not know her at all, he nonetheless knew her well enough to know that something was badly wrong. But there was no easy way of telling her new husband it was fear of the wedding night he was looking forward to that was at the base of her strained behaviour. For an instant she toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, but then, just at that moment, one of the cabin crew entered with a trolley and she lost her nerve.
‘I think I’m a bit tired,’ she muttered apologetically, and it was not a lie for she had barely slept for several nights.
That plausible explanation made Valente’s brow clear and his tension evaporated. He smiled down at her before reaching down to unclip her seat belt and scoop her up easily into his arms. ‘You should try to get some sleep during the flight.’
He set her down in the sleeping compartment and helped her out of her jacket. Everything he did simply unnerved her and, pausing only to kick off her shoes, she lay down still in her dress, her lashes screening her anxious eyes.
‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without your dress?’ Valente asked in surprise.
‘I’m fine like this,’ she told him, only breathing again once the door had closed firmly on his exit. Then she lay sleepless, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what on earth she was going to do…
CHAPTER SEVEN
UNTIL they landed in Tuscany Caroline had assumed their destination was Venice. Now they were driving through rolling woodland with glimpses of hilltop villages and serried ranks of grapevines illuminated by the setting sun. It was a gorgeous landscape. Finally she surrendered to her curiosity.
‘Where are we going?’
‘The Villa Barbieri, left to me by my grandfather, Ettore.’
‘When did he die?’
‘Three years ago.’
‘You must have been close?’ she assumed.
‘No, not in the cosy sense that you mean. But although we had very little in common aside from the blood in our veins, we understood each other very well,’ Valente pronounced coolly.
Caroline was wholly unprepared for the long gravelled drive lined with tall cypresses that led up to the most huge and magnificent house, fronted by a massive portico that would not have shamed a palace. ‘My word,’ she mumbled, wide-eyed. ‘Who was your grandfather?’
‘He was a count, with a dozen other lesser titles and a pedigree that stretched back to the Middle Ages. A man of great pride and intelligence who only chose to acknowledge my existence after the rest of his family had bled him dry.’
‘That sounds like a fascinating story.’
‘But not one I want to share, piccola mia. Content yourself with the knowledge that your mother will be ecstatic when you send her a photo and mention my connection to the aristocracy.’
Caroline reddened as though she had been slapped, but she could not argue with his forecast. Her mother’s great reverence for social status and wealth was as well known as it was embarrassing.
Valente led her into the enormous house, past alcoves adorned with marble statues and a parade of huge oil paintings. They were greeted in a great circular hall by a bowing rotund older man and a long line of staff.
‘The head of the household—the irreplaceable Umberto,’ Valente quipped with a smile as the older man stepped forward.
Caroline was so shocked by what she was discovering about Valente’s life in Italy that even though Umberto addressed her in English she could barely manage to string two words together. Five years earlier Valente had described the tiny Venetian apartment where he lived—the lack of modern facilities, the regular flooding and damp. Yet now it seemed that Valente was living like royalty. Her one-time frog had become a prince, only she doubted that a fairytale ending was in store for him or her.
Her tension broke when a familiar, dainty, furry figure came bounding out of a room nearby. ‘Koko …’ Caroline exclaimed in unconcealed delight, the familiar sight of her pet never more welcome.
Giving the distinctive cries with which she communicated, the Siamese cat wound her slender graceful body affectionately round Caroline’s ankles before condescending to be lifted and stroked, Valente came close to inspect the little animal. Koko’s round blue eyes blazed, the hair on her little head puffing up in an aggressive display as she spat and hissed at him, baring her teeth.
‘No, Koko,’ Caroline scolded, adding without thought, ‘She never took to Matthew either.’
The hardening of Valente’s jawline warned her that that had been a tactless reference.
An evening meal awaited them in a dining room as large and imposing as might have been expected in a building where the hall was big enough to function as a soldiers’ parade ground. While they were served exquisitely cooked and presented food Koko sat at her feet, releasing plaintive cries until Caroline let her pet curl up on her lap.
‘That is a spoilt cat,’ Valente commented.
‘Probably, but I’m very attached to her,’ Caroline admitted, thinking of how often the little animal had mirrored her mood and provided her with company and affection when she was feeling low.
Now, conscious that Valente noticed when she didn’t eat, Caroline made a real effort to rescue her appetite and consume a reasonable amount of what was put in front of her. It troubled her, though, that she was already trying to please Valente, just as she had once tried and failed to please Matthew. Would there ever come a time when she could simply please herself? When dinner was over, Valente addressed Umberto in Italian and swept her up the superb marble cantilevered staircase.
