His Reluctant Bride. Sara Craven

unevenly against her ribcage—which he must have known, because his hand had moved and was gently cupping her breast, his thumb stroking her hardening nipple to a rapturous peak through the silk of her dress.

      He looked down at her, his eyes glittering and intent, asking a question which she was too scared and confused to answer. She only knew that if he kissed her again, she would be lost. And as he bent to her once more, a soft moan, half-fear, half-yearning, parted her lips.

      And then, swiftly and shockingly, it was over, as the telephone beside the bed suddenly rang, its stridency shattering the heated intensity within the room like a fist through a pane of glass.

      Sandro swore softly and fluently, but his hold on her relaxed, and she forced herself out of his embrace and off the bed, and ran to the door.

      She flew across the intervening space, snatching at the door handle to her own bedroom, but as she did so it opened anyway, and she half fell into the room beyond.

      As she struggled to recover her balance, there was a cry of ‘Mammina’ and Charlie, looking angelic, came scampering towards her from the bathroom, with Julie close behind.

      ‘He had a little accident with his cereal this morning,’ she told Polly, trying to look severe. ‘I’ve just had to change his top and trousers. You wouldn’t believe how far he can spread one small bowl.’

      As Polly bent to him, fighting for calm, the door opposite was flung wide, and Sandro came striding towards them, his face like thunder, tying the belt of a robe he’d clearly thrown on as an afterthought.

      Polly scooped Charlie up in her arms, and turned to face him defensively.

      He halted, staring at her, his ominous frown deepening. He said in Italian, ‘We need to talk, you and I. Now.’

      ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ Polly said, nervously aware that Julie had vanished with discreet haste back into the bathroom. She reverted to her own language. ‘I should have known I couldn’t trust you.’

      His mouth twisted contemptuously. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think, my beautiful hypocrite, that you realised you could not trust yourself. It is that simple. So why, for once in your life, can’t you be honest?’

      He took a step towards her, and she recoiled, still clutching Charlie, who was beginning to wriggle. She said hoarsely, ‘Don’t touch me. Don’t dare to come near me. You—you promised to leave me alone.’

      ‘That will be my pleasure,’ Sandro hit back. ‘Now, be silent. You are frightening our son.’ Charlie was squirming round, his lip trembling, holding out his arms to his father, and Sandro took him from her, soothing the little boy quietly.

      He said, ‘He will spend the day with me. I will telephone to say when he may be collected.’ He carried him back to his own room, where he turned and looked back at Polly, his eyes icy with warning.

      He said too softly, ‘And, as long as you live, signorina, never—never again use our child as a barrier between us.’

      The door closed behind them both, leaving Polly shaking and alone in the middle of the room.

      ‘Are you all right, Miss Fairfax?’ Julie was regarding her anxiously from the doorway.

      Polly mustered her reserves. ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘Fine. A—a misunderstanding, that’s all.’

      ‘I thought at first that the marchese had come to give you the good news,’ Julie said. ‘He spoke to me as I was going off duty yesterday evening, and suggested that I should go to Italy as well, to help Charlie to settle in. Isn’t that great? I was going to tell you myself, first thing, only his lordship there did his trick with the cereal.’

      Polly’s hands slowly curled into fists. He knew, she thought, fury uncurling inside her. He knew exactly what I was going to ask, and used it against me. A ploy to get me into bed with him. And—dear God—I was almost fool enough to fall for it. To give in.

      ‘Miss Fairfax?’ Julie was looking puzzled. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

      ‘Yes,’ Polly said, summoning a hurried smile. ‘I’m delighted. That’s—absolutely wonderful. Just what we both wanted.’

      She paused. ‘And Charlie’s spending the day with his father, so you have some free time to go and pack for the Campania. Mind you take a couple of bikinis too,’ she added over-brightly. ‘Apparently the palazzo has a pool.’

      Julie’s face lit up. ‘Well—if you don’t mind …’

      When the other girl had gone, Polly walked over to one of the sofas and sat for a long time, with her face buried in her hands.

      She was angry, but her anger was mixed with guilt too. It was wrong of her to use Charlie like that, but the truth was she hadn’t dared allow Sandro to touch her again. Or come within a yard of her, for that matter.

      As it was, she felt sick with shame at how easily he’d drawn a response from her. And how her unfulfilled body now felt torn apart by frustration. Like the first time he had made love to her, she thought wretchedly, when she’d been wild for him, his caresses exciting her to the point of desperation. When, at last, he’d entered her, her body had been molten with need, and there’d been no pain.

      Just a rapturous sense of total completion, she thought wretchedly. And what she’d believed was utter love.

      I know better now, she told herself, her mind raw. I know he was just using me for sex—nothing more, but that’s something I’ll learn to live with.

      But I can’t let it happen ever again—and I won’t.

      She hadn’t taken his money, she thought harshly. Nor would she accept the false coin of his lovemaking, no matter what the cost to her as a woman. And no matter how she might ache for him, as she did now.

      The next day, she married Sandro in a ceremony so brief she could hardly believe it was legal. As they were pronounced man and wife, and he turned to her, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the promised kiss, only to feel his lips brush her cheek swiftly and coldly.

      As she stepped back she glimpsed Teresa and Ernesto exchanging astonished glances, and moved to them to be hugged with real warmth. Teresa drew her to one side. ‘A little gift, cara,’ she whispered, handing her a flat parcel, wrapped in silver tissue with violet ribbons. ‘Do not open it now. Wait until tonight.’

      Polly forced a smile of thanks, and put the package in the soft leather shoulder bag which served as her hand luggage.

      There were no problems on the flight itself. Polly had never travelled first class before, and sitting in comfort, being served champagne, at least gave a veneer of celebration to the day’s proceedings.

      Charlie chatted in wonder about ‘big planes’, gave an imitation of a jumbo jet taking off, then fell asleep, but he awoke grouchily when they reached Naples, and the subsequent journey soon disintegrated into nightmare.

      Polly discovered, dismayed, that her son did not enjoy travelling by car, even an air-conditioned limousine, and that he was constantly and miserably sick throughout the trip.

      Every few miles they were forced to stop, so that Charlie could be cleaned up and comforted, and eventually Julie, who’d borne the brunt of the little boy’s misery, was sent to sit in the passenger seat beside the chauffeur, and Sandro took her place, cradling Charlie on his lap and talking to him gently.

      ‘Why not give him back to me?’ Polly suggested, aware that her linen dress was already ruined. ‘I’m worried that he’ll spoil your beautiful suit,’ she added awkwardly.

      He gave her a look of faint impatience. ‘Che importa?’ he demanded, and Polly subsided, biting her lip and turning to look out of the window.

      Up till now, she’d been totally unaware of the scenery she was passing through, all her attention given to Charlie’s woes. But now she had a breathing space to take in the reality of her surroundings.