The Forced Bride (11 page)

When he eventually lifted himself away from her, there was none of the triumph in his face that she’d expected. In fact,

she thought, he looked reflective, almost sombre. But if he had regrets, he certainly did not express them aloud. Or any

other opinion either.

In the event, he simply got out of bed, put on his robe and left the room without a word.

So the mantra had worked, Emily thought, gulping with relief as she straightened the bed before turning on to her side and

pulling the covers up over her shoulder. It really was—all over and she’d survived, without visible marks. She was

conscious of aching a little internally, but she guessed that was only to be expected.

It also occurred to her that, in spite of the provocation she’d deliberately offered, he had not translated his anger into

brutality. On the contrary, she could accept, in the absence of other criteria, that he’d probably been—almost

considerate.

She’d not been really hurt, she thought wryly, just humiliated. But, all in all, it could have been very much worse.

Then she heard the bedroom door reopen and realised she’d been altogether too optimistic.

She turned defensively—warily. ‘I—I thought you’d gone back to your own room.’

‘And so I have.’ He put the bottle of wine he was carrying and two glasses down on the night table. There was faint

mockery in his voice. ‘My place is here, beside you,mia bella sposa .’

He sat down on the edge of the bed to pour the wine, then handed her a glass. ‘To our real honeymoon,’ he said and

drank.

Emily stared at him. ‘What are you talking about’ she asked breathlessly. ‘You got what you wanted. And I accept now

that there’ll be no annulment,’ she added bitterly. ‘You’ve made quite sure of that.’

She drew a breath. ‘But I’ll agree to your conditions for a divorce as long as—all ofthis —stops now and you leave me in

peace.’

‘You thought that, having waited for almost three years, I would be satisfied by that one lacklustre performance’ Raf

asked cynically. ‘You are mistaken.’ He smiled at her. ‘You have an exquisite body, my sweet one, and I intend to

enjoyall of this whenever and however I wish, for the duration of our marriage.’

‘But—surely—you came here to talk about a divorce!’ She was pleading suddenly.

‘Oh, that is postponed,’ he said. ‘Indefinitely.’

Her voice was a croak of disbelief. ‘Until when’

He shrugged. ‘Until—perhaps—the ice melts.’ His smile was sardonic. ‘You see, Emilia, you have become a challenge.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Even though I’ve just shown that I don’t want you—and never will’

‘You punish no one but yourself,mia cara ,’ he told her quietly. ‘A man’s ability to gain satisfaction does not depend on

his partner’s pleasure. Although it is enhanced by it,naturalmente .’

He paused. ‘And never is a long time, Emilia. While I—I have become used to waiting. It will not be such a hardship,

especially when I expect the eventual rewards to be infinite,’ he added softly.

Her voice shook. ‘I hate you.’

‘Then at least you will not weary me with declarations of undying love when we part.’ His tone was brisk as he took the

untouched wine from her and set it aside, then reached into the pocket of his robe. ‘Now, give me your hand.’

She obeyed reluctantly, looking down mutinously as Raf slid her wedding ring back on to her finger.

‘Where did you get that’

‘From your former bedroom at the Manor. I gathered from the lawyers, among other things, that you were no longer

wearing it and made a special detour.’ His smile was ironic. ‘We are finally man and wife,carissima , and you will in future

acknowledge as much to the world.’

She was still staring down at the gleam of gold in the lamplight, but her head jerked up. ‘You said—former bedroom’

‘I have instructed the good Signora Penistone to prepare the master suite for us both when we next return to the Manor.’

‘But you can’t,’ she protested in sudden anguish. ‘Those were my father’s rooms.’

‘His rooms, Emilia,’ Raf said quietly. ‘Not his shrine.’

‘You have no right to give such an order in my house!’

‘I have any rights I choose to assume.’ He shrugged off the robe and rejoined her in the bed, pulling her effortlessly

towards him. ‘And maybe now is the time I should remind you of some of them,’ he added softly and put his lips to the

hollow between her breasts.

Emily awoke slowly. For a moment she felt totally disorientated, but two things rapidly became apparent—that a pale,

sharp light was filtering through the curtains and filling the room and that it was difficult to move because she seemed

weighted to the bed.

She turned her head cautiously and saw Raf sleeping beside her, his arm thrown carelessly across her body.

And then she remembered—a wave of embarrassed heat sweeping over her body as all the events of the previous night

returned inexorably to haunt her. Everything he’d said—and, oh, God, everything he’d done.

Inch by inch, she began to edge away from him across the bed, but he did not stir.

Too worn out by his exertions, no doubt, she thought, loathing him.

She gave a silent sigh of relief as her feet touched the icy floor. She retrieved her discarded nightdress and put it on in lieu

of a dressing gown, then tiptoed surreptitiously across to the window and looked round the curtain.

She had to repress a whistle of dismay, because there was the snow. And not the genteel icing sugar effect she was used

to either. Overnight, the world outside the cottage had become a series of anonymous lumps and bumps, shrouded by

drifts.

It looked, she thought unhappily, as if she was going to be stranded here for a while—and with him. And there wasn’t a

damned thing she could do about it.

She sighed, then went quietly round the room collecting a handful of underwear, a pair of dark blue cord trousers and a

cream roll-neck sweater in thick wool.

Then she slipped out, closing the door noiselessly behind her, and went to the bathroom, running a tub as hot as she could

stand. For a while she sat in a little huddle while the water cooled, legs drawn up to her chin as she stared into

nothingness, as she came reluctantly to terms with what had happened to her.

She felt exhausted too—by the unexpected strain of the passive resistance she’d managed to sustain until Rafaele had

eventually turned away from her to sleep and her taut, obdurate body had finally been able to relax.

Not that her stance had deterred him in the least, she thought bitterly. In fact, there’d been moments when she’d

suspected he was even amused by her obstinate refusal to permit herself even the slightest response to his lovemaking.

He’d simply shrugged and continued to use her for his own entertainment, as if she was merely some expensive toy with a

range of possibilities that he was curious to exploit.

And doing so, Emily realised, with a complete lack of inhibition that she found impossible to relate to the cool, elegant

young man who’d appeared from time to time in her life over the past three years.

Causing her, she thought, the kind of humiliation that she would never be able to forget. Or forgive.

She regretted now that she hadn’t fought him off, kicking and scratching, because instinct told her that Rafaele Di Salis

would have never lowered himself by resorting to using his superior strength.

But now it was much too late.

Dry eyes burning, she picked up the soap and began to wash herself from head to foot, massaging the lather carefully into

every inch of her skin so not one trace of him would be left behind.

Until next time, a small wintry voice in her head reminded her and she flinched, wondering just how much of him she

would be made to endure.

Surely he would become irritated with her stubbornness before long and find himself a more responsive lady.

He wouldn’t have to look far, she thought. His name had most recently been linked with that of Valentina Colona, a

twenty-seven-year-old former model who’d retired from the catwalk several years before to marry a wealthy industrialist

from Milan, three times her age. He was now in failing health and confined to his villa in Tuscany, but his money had

helped her start a chain of boutiques called Valentina X and she’d just launched her own perfume brand with the same

name.

And for the last six months she’d been coyly referred to in the gossip columns as Raf Di Salis’s ‘constant companion’.

Emily even knew what she looked like—raven hair, a heart-shaped face almost doll-like in its beauty and a stunning body

that managed to be lissom and voluptuous at the same time.

And last night Raf dared call me beautiful, she thought stormily. Compared with her, I’m a stick insect.

But what made his current behaviour truly inexplicable was the widely quoted story that Signora Colona would one day

become the next Contessa Di Salis.

As if Emily herself did not exist, her marriage to Raf brushed to the sidelines, she’d told herself when she read the

newspaper gossip. But she felt strangely stung just the same. Which was why she’d gambled that Raf would accept the

offered annulment as a quick way out of his marital dilemma.

Only Raf, as he’d made only too clear last night, had not seen it that way.

Maybe he doesn’t wish to give his future wife any impression that he is less than the master in his own house, she thought,

grimacing.

But if he really loves her and wants to marry her one day, why is he here with me How can he betray her by having sex

with someone else, even if it is only his wife

That’s what I should have asked him, she told herself. After all, I’d stupidly let slip that I knew all about his extra-marital

exploits.

But somehow accepting that Raf was an incorrigible womaniser, involved in a string of casualaffaires , was easier than

recognising him as a man capable of being deeply in love with just one woman.

Yet, in spite of that, he’d come here looking for revenge because she’d made him look a fool. But surely he could have

achieved his aim without hurting the woman he loved

On the other hand, lovers who were married to other people probably had to allow a certain sexual leeway in their

relationships—were forced to be realistic about their partners’ marital obligations.

Maybe Valentina Colona was that kind of realist, although she must surely know that Raf’s marriage had only existed on

paper until last night.

But maybe she didn’t care—as long as she won in the end.

Emily suddenly felt intensely dispirited and was conscious of the heated bitterness of tears rising in her throat. But she

fought them back fiercely as she lifted herself out of the bath and reached for a towel.

Whatever Raf might have threatened, she told herself strongly, he wouldn’t want their marriage to drag on. It would prove

far too costly.

Because he needed to concentrate on making yet more millions. At the same time, he couldn’t afford to neglect his

mistress either.

Dried and dressed, she combed her hair severely back from her face and plaited it into a braid, trying to ignore the

bruised eyes that stared back at her from the mirror.

She’d brought only a few cosmetics with her, just moisturiser, a lipstick and mascara, when what she really needed was a

mask to shelter behind.

Because, sooner or later, Raf would wake up and come downstairs in search of her. And it was going to take every

scrap of courage she possessed to face him—to start pretending all over again that she didn’t care what he’d done to her.

That, somehow, this small cottage and the intimacy it inevitably imposed didn’t matter either. That she would get through

the days and find some way to endure the nights without surrendering her integrity.

But how long could she feasibly remain focused Last night it had taken every scrap of will-power she possessed to

ignore her bewildered, starving senses and continue her inimical stance against him. However hard she tried to distract

herself, she’d already realised that it was almost impossible to separate herself completely from what he was doing to her.

Especially when he seemed equally determined to arouse her.

Suddenly she found herself wondering—actually imagining how Raf would make love when he wasin love. How tender he

would be—whether there would be a difference in his kisses—in the touch of his hands. What he might say to his woman

when they finally lay together, all passion spent. Whether he would simply hold her close in adoring silence, his lips against

her hair

And stopped herself right there, her mouth dry. Because there was no point in that kind of speculation. On the contrary,

she told herself, it was positively dangerous.

She shivered as she turned away from the mirror and went slowly downstairs to begin the first day of her unwanted

marriage.

CHAPTER SIX

DOWNSTAIRS, Emily discovered, there was the unexpected lifeline of housework to rescue her from any further risky

introspection.

Cleaning a house had never been her sole responsibility before, she thought ruefully as she cleaned the grate and laid the

fire before tidying and dusting the living room. She’d always looked after her own room at school and at the Manor, of

course, and pitched in to help elsewhere when necessary, but there’d always been the back-up of efficient staff.

And, even after her marriage to Simon, nothing much would have changed. She’d assumed at first that Simon would want

to live in London again and that they’d start out in a small flat like other young couples but, to her surprise, this hadn’t