The Forced Bride (16 page)

probably sounded young and silly. But not jealous, she prayed, closing her eyes. Oh, please, not jealous. Because it

wasn’t true—it wasn’t true at all…

The creak of a board brought her abruptly back to the here and now and the realisation that Raf had walked into the

bathroom, carrying another large pan.

‘It’s all right, thank you,’ she said, trying to fold herself into startled invisibility. If she lived to be a hundred, she thought,

she would never become accustomed to his casual attitude to nudity—hers or his. ‘The water’s fine as it is.’

‘But not for me,carissima ,’ he said silkily. ‘I like the temperature raised a little.’ He poured the contents of the pan

carefully into the bath, dropped the towel he was wearing and joined her.

‘What do you think you’re doing’ She hated the breathless note in her voice as she tried to retreat into some distant

corner of the bath that didn’t actually exist.

‘Washing,’ he said and held out a hand. ‘The soap,sposa mia , if you please.’

Numbly, she handed it to him, finding a voice from somewhere. ‘It doesn’t matter to you that I might prefer some

privacy’

‘And you may have it, once I no longer have to act as water carrier.’ He was briskly lathering his shoulders and chest.

‘But, until the power returns, we share.’ He scooped up handfuls of water, spilling the shining droplets over his head.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I’ve finished.’

It was awkward leaving the bath under his sardonic gaze, but she managed it, winding the waiting towel round her like a

sarong, covering herself against him.

‘Would you care to wash my back before you go’ he asked.

Emily bit her lip. ‘No,’ she said, stonily. ‘I wouldn’t.’

His mouth twisted. ‘You did not find touching me so distasteful last night,mia bella .’

‘Because,’ she said, ‘I was still pretending you were someone else,signore .’ She added coolly, ‘I find it works very

well.’

And she walked out of the bathroom, the edge of the towel following her like a train.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMILYsat curled up despondently in the corner of the sofa. The chicken bones were simmering on the kitchen stove with

some attendant vegetables, but whether they’d ever become edible soup was anyone’s guess.

What was more, she’d arrived downstairs to discover that Raf, in between his water heating activities, had taken the time

to clean the grate and light the fire in the living room, so conditions weren’t as arctic as she’d anticipated.

Which made her parting shot to him in the bathroom seem even more ungracious.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to feel grateful to him. She wanted to keep her resentment alive. Needed to hate what

he’d done to her, as well as what he had planned for her immediate future.

Last night, she’d slept, melded with him. Had become totally imbued with him. But how and why it had happened was

beyond her. She supposed it must have been her subconscious reaction to that lingering kiss that had drawn her to him,

and that, in itself, was deeply disturbing.

Except that it was over now, she reminded himself swiftly. This was another day altogether and she had to stay strong and

not let herself remember the silken texture of his skin under her cheek—her mouth.

Or how her arm had encircled his lean waist. The way her body had seemed to fit with his, as if it had been designed for

that purpose alone.

Above all, she had to blind herself to the sheer male physicality of him. In spite of herself, she could not ignore how

sensational he looked without his clothes, and how the grace and strength of his nakedness turned her mouth dry and

transformed her own body to an aching, melting heat that made her feel ashamed. And scared.

Which had made it so necessary to toss him that scornful comment and walk away just now.

Because she couldn’t let herself touch him, she thought. Not again. She couldn’t risk it, any more than she dared to allow

him to touch her. The opportunities for self-betrayal were far too dangerous.

She sighed. She was certainly succeeding in turning this into the honeymoon from hell, yet, at the same time, it wasn’t the

unalloyed triumph she’d expected.

She heard him coming downstairs and tensed, expecting some kind of repercussion, but Raf was zipping himself into his

parka as he reached the bottom of the stairs and barely glanced at her. For one panicky moment she thought he might be

cutting his losses and leaving, abandoning her here to her own devices, then realised he didn’t have his bag with him.

‘You—you’re going out’ she ventured.

‘As you see. I shall walk down to the village and see what food is to be had,’ he said. ‘We cannot exist on a few chicken

bones.’

‘Is it safe to do that—with all this snow’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Or I would not try.’

Emily stood up. ‘Then I’ll come with you.’

‘You have developed a sudden taste for my company’ His mouth curled. ‘Impossible.’ He paused. ‘Or are you hoping

to encounter your admirer, perhaps’

‘Please don’t be absurd,’ she said. ‘It’s simply that I’m getting cabin fever cooped up like this.’

He looked at her sceptically. ‘It will be treacherous underfoot,’ he warned.

As if the conditions indoors were so ideal, she thought.

‘It is a pity I did not bring my skis with me,’ he went on. ‘Ah, but you do not ski, I believe,cara .’

Just in time she remembered she’d told him that when he’d invited her to spend his New Year holiday with him in the

Dolomites the first year of their marriage.

‘A pity you did not tell your father so,’ he added silkily. ‘He spent a great deal on your school trips to Switzerland each

winter, I understand, and all for nothing. It would have saddened him.’

He paused, watching the swift annoyed colour rise in her face.

‘However, there are some rubber boots in the cellar,’ he continued. ‘They may be too large, and the tops appear to have

been chewed by rats, but they might be of assistance.’

She shuddered. ‘My own boots will be fine. I’ll manage.’

Only she didn’t. One minute she found herself skidding on a frozen patch, the next she was above her knees in soft snow,

and forced to grab at Raf’s arm to stop herself from falling.

As soon as she’d recovered her balance, she apologised, her face flushing even more deeply.

‘This is a bad idea.’ He sounded faintly bored. ‘I will take you back,cara , before you break something.’

As she reluctantly accepted his assistance to turn awkwardly and make her sliding way back to the cottage, she could

only wish it would be his neck.

But, standing by the window, watching him disappear down the track and out of sight, she found herself feeling oddly

forlorn and regretting that she hadn’t tried the rat-nibbled wellies after all.

He seemed to be gone for ever and she was on edge the whole time, imagining that her ill-wishing had somehow taken

effect and he was lying in a drift with compound fractures and acute hypothermia.

‘And then what would I do’ she demanded aloud, defending any concern she might have purely on the grounds of

self-interest.

She began wandering almost compulsively from room to room, inventing tasks for herself, like dragging the heavy fur rug

that lay in front of the fire to the door and shaking it so vigorously that she almost fell over again.

However, her chicken bone concoction seemed to be smelling more appetising by the moment, which was mildly

encouraging.

She was prodding it doubtfully with a fork, when she finally heard the door open and flew into the living room to find Raf

heaving two carrier bags on to the table.

But she swallowed back her instinctive Thank God, replacing it with a tart, ‘You took your time.’

His brows lifted in hauteur. ‘Perhaps you wish to go in my place on the next occasion You are welcome to do so,

although I doubt you will do any better. The good Signora provides a limited choice.’ He counted on his fingers. ‘No

garlic, no fresh herbs, no olive oil worthy of the name and no pasta except something in a can.

‘It is little wonder that Marcello and Fiona bring supplies with them and eat out as often as possible,’ he added grimly.

‘But for the weather, we would have done the same.’

How could he talk like that, she wondered with a pang, as if they were a normal couple, enjoying a break together She

lifted her chin. ‘But for the weather, I would be long gone,signore .’

His voice was soft. ‘If it comforts you to think so,signora .’

He began to unpack the bags, producing vegetables, apples, bread rolls, milk and some pallid-looking sausages, along

with tins of tomatoes and haricot beans plus a couple of packs of meat.

‘They’re frozen,’ she discovered. ‘How can that be’

‘The shop operates an emergency generator.’ He took out a packet of very pink ham, fashioned into squares, and looked

at it with a faint sigh.

‘However, the Signora tells me the power will be restored by the end of the day and also that a thaw is expected later in

the week.’ The firm mouth curled. ‘I refer only to the weather, you understand.’

She said with difficulty, ‘Raf, don’t—please. I—I can’t help the way I am.’

‘I do not agree. I think you have no idea how you could be,mia cara .’ His tone was hard. ‘Nor will you permit yourself

to find out. But that is your choice.’

He walked towards the door. ‘Now I am going to dig paths to the log store and the place where the coal is kept in case

you need them.’

She tried to say, ‘Thank you,’ but the words wouldn’t come, so she nodded and turned away.

Alone again, she began to put the groceries away, aware that her hands were shaking and that her eyes kept blurring.

But what was there to cry about, she wondered, when, as he’d said, she’d made her choice And when all she had to do

was stick to it.

Because, for him, it was just a game, like chess. He made a move, she blocked it somehow. And even this would pass,

she whispered to herself, if she simply—stood firm and waited for him to tire of this perpetual stalemate.

As he surely would, she thought, and tasted the acrid tears in her throat.

It was not the easiest day she had ever spent. Raf busied himself outside, and she made sure she followed his example

indoors. Because that was the best way to stop herself from thinking.

She strained the chicken stock, adding potatoes and leeks as well as the remaining meat to the mixture, then let it cook

slowly, producing a soup that was thick and surprisingly flavoursome, and heating some of the rolls to go with it.

‘That was excellent,’ Raf said as he finished his second bowl. ‘Working in the air makes you hungry.’

‘Have you finished all your digging’

‘Not yet. I decided also to clear a path down to the road.’

‘You’ll be exhausted.’ She spoke without thinking and felt the colour storm her face when he laughed, getting to his feet.

‘I am sure you hope so,carissima , but you will be disappointed.’

He paused, then added lightly, ‘At least in that regard.’

Which was an unequivocal declaration of intent, Emily thought, staring after him, her heart beating uncomfortably, as he

disappeared outside again. Sending out a clear signal that tonight he would not be satisfied with just a kiss.

In an effort at distraction, she found an elderly pack of cards and spent an hour or so playing solitaire, but without

success, finding herself invariably thwarted at the last minute. How very like real life, she thought crossly, pushing the

cards together.

She went into the kitchen and began assembling the evening meal. The meat was still frozen, so she decided to use the

unpromising sausages instead. Cooking them in batter would disguise their major faults, she thought, measuring flour into a

bowl, and an onion gravy would also be a plus.

By the time Raf came in, she’d made up the living room fire and lit the candles. He was sitting on the sofa, pulling off his

boots, when she emerged from the kitchen and his brows lifted as he realised she was bringing him a mug of freshly made

coffee.

‘You are the perfect wife,carissima ,’ he told her lightly and she turned away, biting her lip. Except in one respect, she

thought, but no doubt he considered that was merely a matter of time.

While their meal was cooking, she sat opposite him and pretended to read in the intimacy of the flickering light, while he

was absorbed in another chess problem, and occasionally stole a glance at him when she felt it was safe to do so.

He’d have fitted well into an earlier century, she thought, wearing silk and velvet, although she was only just becoming

used to him in jeans and sweaters rather than the customary elegance of formal designer suits. She could imagine him

standing in the shadows of some Renaissance court, his hand on the jewelled hilt of a sword, or riding into a conquered

city at the head of his men, his eyes scanning the captive women lined up for his inspection, and his choice.

She caught herself there and halted, because that was rather too apposite, she thought wryly. Yet, at the same time, she

found herself wanting to laugh at her own nonsense.

‘What are you thinking’ The quiet question startled her.

‘Why do you ask’ she parried.

‘Because you are smiling at your thoughts,cara , and that is something of a novelty in my acquaintance with you.’

So, she thought, he’d been watching her too, which was distinctly unnerving.

She shrugged lightly. ‘But you can’t just ask,’ she said. ‘You have to say—penny for your thoughts. And pay up,’ she

added, playing for time.

Raf reached into a pocket and tossed a coin to her. ‘So—tell me.’