The Duke's Wife. Stephanie Howard

and it would be a short, sharp shock guaranteed to bring Sofia to her senses. But, with any luck, such drastic steps would not be necessary. The threat alone would be enough to persuade her to cooperate.

      So, it’s up to you, Sofia, he thought as he headed back to the palace. Do the wise thing and capitulate if you don’t want a ‘monster’ on your hands.

      CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER Damiano had gone and a maid had come to clear up the mess—which fortunately wasn’t as bad as it had sounded, for only one cup had been broken, though most of the tea had spilled over the carpet—Sofia walked unsteadily over to the window and stood staring unseeingly down into the garden, struggling desperately to calm herself. Surely this was about as low as things could possibly go?

      She bit her lip. I hate him, she told herself. And at that thought a wretched sadness twisted at her heart. Once, she would have been incapable of even thinking such a thing. Once, she had been filled with the sheer joy of loving him and with the conviction that she would love him until the day she died.

      Even now she could remember when she had first fallen in love with him. She had been ten years old, spending a summer holiday at the royal palace, the fabulous rosy-stoned Palazzo Verde which stood high on a promontory overlooking the sea and had been the home of the ruling Montecrespis for centuries. And she’d been sitting in one of the courtyards waiting for Caterina—Damiano’s younger sister, who was two years older than herself—when suddenly, quite unexpectedly, Damiano had appeared.

      He’d been dressed in his riding gear—cream breeches and burgundy jacket—his high polished boots making a sharp clack-clack sound as he strode across the cobbled courtyard. He’d been about to walk past her, for she was half-hidden in a corner, but then, at the last minute, he’d spotted her and paused.

      ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘And who are you?’

      Sofia looked up at him and felt her heart turn over in her chest. Surely she must be dreaming? This had to be some fairy-tale prince? For she had never seen a more dashingly arresting sight in her life. He had the most wonderful face, long-lashed eyes as black as treacle and the most glorious head of hair, which in those days he wore a little longer and was as black and glossy as washed coal. And he was smiling at her with a warm smile that was turning her flesh to jelly.

      She finally found her voice. ‘I’m Sofia,’ she said.

      ‘Sofia? Now which Sofia is that?’ He frowned a little. ‘I don’t think I know you.’

      ‘Sofia Riccione.’ Her tongue felt like cardboard. ‘My mother’s a friend of your mother, the Duchess, and I’m a friend of Caterina’s. I—’

      ‘Oh, that Sofia!’ He smiled more broadly, understanding, and Sofia caught a glimpse of perfect strong white teeth. ‘I’ve heard all about you from my sister. You’re the youngest daughter of the Marquis of Romano.’

      Sofia nodded, wondering if she dared ask him who he was, though she had already guessed that he was probably Caterina’s elder brother. She’d already met Leone, her other brother, who was younger. But, even as she was wondering, he held out his hand to her.

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Sofia,’ he told her. ‘I’m Damiano. No doubt we’ll be bumping into one another from time to time.’

      And they did, though not nearly as often as Sofia would have liked. Still, even just a glimpse of him was enough to make her day sublime—and to bring a blush to her cheeks, as, to her dismay, Caterina noticed.

      ‘You’re in love with my brother!’ she accused, shrieking with laughter. ‘You’re in love with Damiano! I’m going to tell him!’

      Sofia nearly died. ‘Oh, no, don’t!’ she pleaded. ‘Please don’t, Caterina! I’m not in love with him, I swear!’

      ‘Yes, you are!’ Caterina’s blue eyes were sparking with devilment. ‘I know the signs. I saw you blushing!’ Then she took pity on the distraught expression on poor Sofia’s face, for she would sooner have died than have her secret made public. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t say a thing,’ she promised solemnly. ‘And, anyway, I don’t blame you. Damiano’s terribly handsome. Both my brothers are, but especially Damiano. And one day, you know, he’s going to be the Duke.’ She laughed a teasing laugh. ‘How would you like to be his duchess?’

      Quite frankly, Sofia thought that that would be the most wonderful thing imaginable. Not the duchess bit particularly. She didn’t care about that. But to be Damiano’s wife. That was what she dreamed of. And as the years went by and she returned again and again as a guest at the sumptuous Palazzo Verde it became a dream that established itself deep within her. Though it was just a make-believe dream, not one she ever believed might really come true. Damiano was way out of her reach and she knew that.

      For a start, he was so much older. Fourteen years divided them. He was so sophisticated, smart, worldly and wise and she, by comparison, knew nothing at all. In his eyes all she was was an immature child.

      On one particular occasion when she was about thirteen years old she was having lunch with the Duke and Duchess and her own parents and Damiano—Caterina, for some reason, wasn’t present—and the conversation became terribly obscure and adult, with words like ‘deflation’ and ‘equities’ being bandied about, and she didn’t have a clue what on earth they were talking about. She didn’t care either. She was perfectly happy just to sit there secretly feasting her eyes on Damiano. On those wonderful jet-dark eyes, on the way his mouth curled at the corners, on the glossy black hair that flopped down over his forehead. She kept wishing she could reach across the table and touch it, and she would shiver at the thought of its cool silkiness against her fingers.

      But then the Duke, Damiano’s father, who was the kindest of men and would never have knowingly embarrassed her, suddenly said, ‘But we’re boring poor Sofia with all our silly chatter. Poor thing’s been sitting there as quiet as a mouse for hours.’ He smiled kindly across at her. ‘Let’s talk about something different. Come on, Sofia, tell us who your favourite pop star is these days.’

      Sofia turned the same colour as the raspberry sorbet she’d been eating. She stared back at the Duke, feeling humiliated to her very core. What kind of idiot must she look, capable only of conversing about pop stars? What a hopeless impression she must be making on Damiano.

      And then Damiano spoke. ‘She used to be very keen on The Police—at least so Caterina was telling me.’ He smiled across at her, a smile in which Sofia could see only condescension, and asked, ‘Do you still like them or have you moved on to someone else?’

      ‘I—I don’t know...’

      Sofia could feel all eyes on her. And, suddenly drowning in embarrassment, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Her brain was functioning with all the clarity of a lump of sago.

      ‘I—’ she began again. But there was nothing to come out. And that was when something snapped inside her and she ended up making the situation a hundred times worse. She sprang from the table with a muttered, ‘Excuse me!’ and went flying from the dining room in helpless tears.

      Later, she apologised to the Duke and Duchess, who told her not to be silly, that she had obviously just been tired, and the incident was never mentioned again. But it continued to haunt Sofia for years and years afterwards. What an idiot she’d made of herself in front of Damiano!

      Her lingering embarrassment, in fact, was so enormous that in the years that followed, when she began to see less and less of Damiano—partly because he just never seemed to be around when she visited the palace and partly because her visits had grown more seldom anyway since her friendship with Caterina had waned a little—she told herself that it was simply a blessing in disguise. It would save her doing something else that would make her an even bigger fool in his eyes! Besides, didn’t they say that out of sight was out of mind? And it really was time she gave up her foolish fantasies.

      But that was not the way it worked out. She saw him fairly seldom and then usually at some banquet,