The Forced Bride (7 page)

pointless exercise of my entire life. Because it changes nothing. It can’t…

But perhaps it was something she needed to do, if only to convince herself that the stance she was taking was completely

justified. That her relationship with Raf Di Salis had been null and void from the beginning and that it was hypocritical to

pretend otherwise.

Although she could quite see that it would be a blow to Raf’samour-propre to be forced to admit openly that his wife was

not among his numerous conquests.

In fact, he’d been prepared to go to considerable lengths to present a very different picture of their relationship, she

recalled, wincing.

It had been the morning after the wedding and it seemed to Emily that she’d only just managed to drop into a restless

sleep when she had been woken by a hand on her shoulder and opened heavy eyes to see Raf standing beside the bed.

She’d sat up, pushing back her hair, instantly defensive.

‘What do you want’ Her voice was husky.

His mouth tightened. ‘To give you this.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Open it,’ he directed.

She obeyed and gasped when she saw the beautiful square sapphire enclosed by small diamonds that it contained.

‘An engagement ring’ She frowned in bewilderment. ‘Isn’t it a little late for that’

‘It is a family tradition,’ he said quietly. ‘This ring is given by each Count to his bride on the first day of their honeymoon

as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’

Her face flamed. ‘No way.’

‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you

make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage

to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear Now put it on.’

She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made

for her alone.

‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about’ she asked haughtily.

‘If I think of any, I will tell you.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ He added wryly, ‘You will not be disturbed again.’

And left her.

To her own astonishment, she fell asleep within minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.

She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its

distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would

be under scrutiny, however discreet.

Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the

rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.

‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent

gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.

It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.

‘Another formality,’ he said softly, as he straightened. ‘Accustom yourself.’

And she’d nodded, unable to speak.

And formal was how their relationship had remained in every respect, for which she could only be grateful. True to his

word, Raf had never visited her bedroom again, or attempted to make physical demands on her in any way.

But that had been an easy promise to a girl who was too young and inexperienced to appeal to his sophisticated tastes

anyway, she reminded herself tautly. Someone he’d been saddled with, simply because he owed her dying father.

It occurred to her that, for a supposed honeymoon, there had been very little privacy, although Raf himself seemed

unaware or uncaring of the fact that they were the cynosure of all eyes.

Not that they were together that much, and she was thankful that the house and its gardens were vast enough for her to

be able to make herself scarce most of the time. After all, she had the excuse that she was exploring her new

surroundings.

But there were times when she was obliged to be in his company and she found this a strain, conscious always of his cool

politeness. At mealtimes in particular, because there were servants present, she struggled, trying to respond to his efforts

to engage her in conversation and to smile back at him as if she was really the fulfilled and loving bride of everyone’s

expectations.

Perhaps the most successful times were the days when he took her into Rome with him, showing her all the usual tourist

sights, but also allowing her a glimpse of his own city, the hidden side that the visiting swarms never saw.

But she was relieved when the supposed honeymoon ended and she was able to fly back to Britain. Although even this

had its awkward moment.

Raf had ordered champagne on the flight and, when it came, he raised his glass in a toast to her.

‘I am proud of you,mia cara ,’ he told her quietly. ‘It cannot have been easy for you.’

‘Thank you.’ Emily did not look at him. ‘It wasn’t—that bad—in the end. And your house is wonderful,’ she added

stiltedly. ‘But I’ll be glad to be home again and get back to normal life.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Do I take it you will be in no hurry to return to Italy’ His tone was mildly curious.

‘Well, that wasn’t part of the deal, was it’ she returned defensively. ‘I thought I’d be living in England.’

‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’ He paused again. ‘Perhaps I was hoping, Emilia, that even if we are not lovers, we

might become—friends. Learn to enjoy being together. What do you think’

‘That it’s not very likely. After all, we come from totally different worlds, and you have a very busy life.’ She stared at the

bubbles rising in her glass as if they fascinated her. ‘You don’t have to be kind. Really. I’ll be fine.’

‘But there will be times when we shall be obliged to meet,’ he said curtly. ‘When I shall need you to act as my hostess. I

did explain this to you.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The formalities again.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t have to worry. I’ll do my best to carry out my duties

to your satisfaction.’

‘Grazie, mia sposa.’ His voice was ironic, almost harsh. ‘Then that is how it shall be.’

And that was how it had been, Emily told herself. At first, Raf’s visits to England had been frequent and his calls on her

services quite exacting, but as the months had passed they’d become more and more rare.

And at the same time, she’d discovered the first newspaper stories of his liaison with one of the Italian film industry’s

rising young stars, Luisa Danni.

For a while she’d felt stunned. But, after all, what else could she reasonably have expected Just because she preferred

to sleep alone, there was no reason for Raf to be celibate too, she told herself over and over again. That had never been

part of the deal.

So there would be no accusations—no recriminations. No reproaches either. In fact, no reaction at all.

She would continue to be polite and pleasant when she saw him, play the part required of her when necessary, and try

not to think about him at all when he was absent.

Besides, if she said anything, it might seem as if she cared. As if his infidelity actually mattered to her. And that wasn’t

true. It wasn’t true at all.

So she would ignore the whole sordid situation and simply live for the time when she would no longer be his unwanted

wife. When she would be free of him.

And that time, thought Emily, staring through the train window at the flying countryside, that time is now.

My marriage is over and there’s nothing on this earth that Raf Di Salis can do about it.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WASdark when Emily got to Glasgow, and pitch black when she arrived at last at Kilrossan. But her journey, though

lengthy, had run like clockwork and she’d had no trouble making her connection.

As she descended on to the cold and windy platform and stood for a moment ruefully easing her spine, a rangy young

man approached out of the gloom.

‘You’ll be Miss Blake, I’m thinking.’ Voice and smile were cheerful. ‘I have the Jeep waiting.’

He took the suitcase crammed with warm clothing and the bag of books from her and set off towards the exit.

‘I’m Angus McEwen, by the way,’ he added. ‘It’s my auntie who looks after the cottage for the owners, although there

aren’t many visitors at this time of year.’

‘I wanted to find somewhere quiet and remote,’ Emily told him, huddling gratefully into her fleece.

He laughed. ‘Well, it’s that all right.’

‘It’s also absolutely freezing!’

‘There’s snow expected.’ He stowed her bags in the back of the Jeep and they set off.

She said stiltedly, ‘It’s very good of you to come and collect me at this time in the evening.’

‘All part of the service. I’m home on leave and like to keep occupied.’ He paused. ‘How did you hear about the

cottage’

‘Through a friend.’

‘It’s a shame it’s so dark because the scenery around here’s something grand,’ he told her. ‘Mind you, they say the

desert’s beautiful too, but I can’t see it myself.’

‘Is that where you work’

He nodded. ‘I started on the oil rigs but now I’m on a contract in Saudi.’ He paused again. ‘Are you a walker, Miss

Blake Because, if you’re planning to head into the hills at some point, you’ll need to leave a message with Auntie at the

shop about where you’re going and when you reckon to be back. Snow or not, the weather can still be treacherous at

this time of year and getting the mountain rescue team out is expensive.’

Emily smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I’ve come to relax.’Or try to …‘I’m not tackling more than the odd gentle stroll.’

‘Then I’d better give you a bit of peace now,’ Angus commented ruefully. ‘The family always say I could talk the hind leg

off a donkey.’

If she was truthful, Emily was glad of the silence. She still couldn’t believe her escape had been so simple. The only query

had come from the ticket office clerk at the station. ‘A first class single to London, madam Not a return’

She’d smiled demurely. ‘I’ll probably be coming back by car,’ she fibbed. She wouldn’t, of course, but if Raf made

enquiries that was what he’d be told. And from London she could have gone anywhere.

She didn’t even want to contemplate what his reaction would be when he arrived at the Manor and discovered she was

missing. But she wouldn’t worry about that now. She had two weeks of solitary bliss in which to make her contingency

plans. And when she returned she’d be ready for anything.

They seemed to have been driving for ever but at last the Jeep turned off and Emily found they were bumping over a

rutted uphill track.

Her companion pointed to a light ahead of them. ‘That’s Braeside Cottage. Auntie’ll have been up with a welcome

pack—bread, milk, porridge oats and the like. And I’m to show you where everything is and light the living room fire for

you.

‘The water and heating work off oil,’ he went on as Emily murmured appreciatively. ‘And the cooker uses bottled gas,

because the electricity goes off sometimes in bad weather. But Auntie Maggie makes sure there’s always a good stock of

candles.’ He paused doubtfully. ‘You’re certain you won’t mind being up here on your own’

‘Believe me,’ Emily said truthfully, ‘I can hardly wait.’

The cottage was certainly worth waiting for, she thought, as she was ushered straight in through a front door which,

Angus told her, was rarely, if ever, locked.

Well, it was the back of beyond, just as she’d hoped, she reminded herself. Her Scottish sanctuary, hundreds of miles

from irate Italian millionaires.

It was a large room, comfortably furnished but not flash. Two big sofas upholstered in blue flowered chintz flanked the

fireplace and there was a small dining table and two chairs under the window. None of the furniture was new, but it

gleamed and there was a pleasing scent of polish in the air.

A curtained archway led to a small but well-equipped kitchen at the rear, with the promised welcome pack standing on

one of the counter tops.

In addition, there was a flight of wooden stairs to the upper floor and a door in the corner which Angus said led down to

the cellar, where the boiler and the coal bunker were both located.

He took her case upstairs and deposited it in the large front bedroom. Emily saw that there was a thick quilt in a green

and white striped cover on the double bed and that the lace-edged pillows were crisply laundered. It looked so inviting

that she almost ached.

There were sheepskin rugs on the wooden floor and plain curtains in the same green at the windows. There was also an

elderly chest of drawers with a mirror above it and a walk-in cupboard with a hanging rail.

Opposite was a single room, chastely furnished in white, and at the end of the narrow landing was a small but serviceable

bathroom with a deep old-fashioned tub and a hand shower.

It was all immaculately clean and shining, which made Angus’s Aunt Maggie a treasure. Pity she can’t sort out High

Gables for Simon, she thought, and wondered if he was missing her, at the same time disturbingly aware that she’d hardly

spared him a thought. That she’d been preoccupied with Raf instead, and to an absurd degree. Well, that would stop

right now.

When she rejoined Angus downstairs, the fire was already crackling in the grate.

‘The kindling’s kept in the cellar, too, for dryness,’ he mentioned. ‘And the log store’s in a lean-to at the side of the