âTo your desk, woman,' he growled, opening letters at
a tremendous rate. âBefore I teach you a little basic biology.'
Sophia checked her moan of desire and hastily beat a retreat, settling down to examine the acceptances from guests who'd been invited to the âcelebratory ball'.
âI've had confirmation of the flight booking from Gatwick to Venice,' Rozzano told her, punching holes in a letter and adding it to their wedding file, âand we've now found enough launches to take everyone to my family church.'
Sophia nodded, amused that she could be so blasé now about sending a plane to collect her friends! They had decided on a ceremony in the little private church adjoining the Barsini
palazzo
because it would be easier to keep out gatecrashers. And the press.
âI'm glad we decided to come back here for the reception,' she mused. âI'm a bit staggered by the amount and variety of food, thoughâ'
âLeave it to the caterers, darling,' he advised. âThey have experience of this. We have eighteen hundred mouths to fill, remember.'
âI can't believe it! It seems that half of Dorset and the whole of Venice will be stuffed in here!' she said in awe. âI get nerves just thinkingâ'
âDon't.' His eyes held hers steadily. âThis is our wedding. Our commitment to one another. No one elseâother than your grandfatherâis important.'
âThat's what you think. We need your family priest too! And your brother and family.'
Rozzano frowned at the letter he had just opened. âMmm,' he said absently. âBy the way, we're getting short of time. We must fly to Paris to buy your lingerie. I could get us on a flight tonightâ'
She laughed at his eagerness. âYour brother's arranged a party for us, remember?'
âYes, but his parties are ten-a-penny. We could miss itâ'
âAbsolutely not!' she protested. âI'm longing to meet Enrico and his family. I want to get to know them really well.'
âParis at midnight would be more romanticâ'
âVenice at midnight is romantic enough if I'm with you,' she said tenderly.
Rozzano's face eased into a slow, loving smile. âStay by my side the whole evening, then,' he said huskily.
âNo. People will talk. We're supposed to be acquaintances, remember?' she teased. But she was delighted that he needed her so much.
âWe leave the party early and go to Paris the day after, then. Yes?'
âTry to stop me!' she cried. âI'd love to. I need to think about my wedding dressâ'
âMilan,' he said promptly. âWe'll stop off there on the way back. I'll make the arrangements.'
As she changed for Enrico's party that night, she felt as if her life had accelerated into the fast lane. Her grandfather had been thrilled with their news and as she'd gazed at his tear-filled eyes she'd known that this was the best medicine they could have devised for him.
Her love for Rozzano had been intense when he'd knelt before her grandfather to embrace him, tenderness and emotion plain to see on Rozzano's face.
He was planning a wedding for them which she would never forget Her head whirled with it all: photographs of wonderful flower displays, table decorations, discussions about the gold dinner service and the heavy whitegold cutlery, the crystal which would need cleaning, the
presents for the guests, the fabulous clothes she was to have for her trousseau...
She stopped, her expression dreamy as she listened to a sweet Venetian love song. Rozzano had asked her to listen to some music by composers who'd been born in or had lived in Venice: Vivaldi, Liszt, Rossini and Bellini. It had touched her that he'd had the tracks specially compiled for her so that she could decide on her favourites for the ceremony.
Her hands paused as they were fastening her La Perla basque. She felt so strong now, so sure of Rozzano's love. His adoration had given her a pride in herself, and she knew she could cope with the pressures of managing the estate-with his help.
Slowly she snapped the fasteners and drew on the deep lace-topped stockings that he loved. For the party she had chosen a cerise silk taffeta top with a low boat neckline and a lime silk skirt, short and straight and showing more thigh than she would normally have dared. But the woman in the exclusive designer outlet had told her sternly that everyone, but everyone, was wearing their skirt that short-and that she had the legs to carry off the style.
Rozzano hadn't seen it yet. She hugged herself, anticipating the look on his face when he did. Excitedly she tucked her feet into a pair of spindly cerise shoes and scooped up the matching full-length taffeta coat. It rustled wonderfully and would billow about her in a hugely dramatic statement of confidence.
The last touch. Enormous dangling earrings. Wow!
Perfect, subtle make-up, courtesy of a beautician who'd attended to her half an hour ago, gorgeous shiny waves tumbling in artful confusion about her shoulders,
thanks to a stylist who, like the beautician, had been more than eager to attend the new
contessa.
Carefully she walked to her grandfather's suite and said goodnight to him, touched by his extravagant compliments.
âEnjoy yourself, sweetheart. Tell me all about it in the morning, yes?'
âPromise.' She kissed him tenderly. âI love you, Grandpa,' she said softly. âI love you very much.'
âSweet girl,' the old man said huskily, âyou are my greatest joy.'
Her eyes sparkling with happiness, she hurried along the galleried corridor to the salon. Taking a deep breath, she checked herself carefully, composed her face as well as she could, and pushed open the doors.
Rozzano's gasp was very, very satisfying. âSophia!' he cried in stupefaction. âYou look...
sensational
!
'
âYou look gorgeous too!' she murmured, rendered breathless by his appearance. âI think you should wear a tux day and night. You're so handsome,' she said with a sentimental sigh. âOh-I forgot. I have a coat, too. Look! Is that Drama Queen or what?' she cried in glee, flinging it around her shoulders and stalking about. âI'm ready for my close-up now, Mr de Mille!' she husked extravagantly, mimicking the fading movie star in
Sunset Boulevard.
He laughed, though his grin faded quickly. âIt's...' He opened his hands in an expression of helplessness. âYou'll knock 'em dead! Butââ
âBut what?' She stopped whirling about and stared at him.
âSophia,' he began hesitantly, âI thought you might wear something simple, like...like that little flowery dress you had in London orâ'
âRozzano!' she scolded. âYou really are hopeless! Call yourself an Italian? OK. Venetian?' she corrected hurriedly. âI love those dresses, but they're not for a grand party in the Barsini
palazzo
! What would your brother think?'
âThat's what I'm worried about,' he said lightly. âAll the men there will flock around you and the women will hate you.'
âYou're flattering me!' she scoffed. âI'm not half as lovely as some of the women I've seen around Venice. But thanks for pretending. Come on! I'm dying to be introduced to Enrico and to dance the night away!'
She held out her hand to Rozzano, her eyes brimming with happiness.
âI love you!' he whispered, pulling her close.
âI love you too,' she breathed, staring blissfully into his blazing eyes.
âLet's stay here and make love,' he urged, sliding his hand to her breast.
âLet's party and
then
make love,' she suggested, adoring him, thrilled with his hunger. Ecstatic, she pulled away and made for the door. âI'm goingâwith or without you. Decide!'
With a muttered curse under his breath, he caught her up and held out his arm. When she tucked her hand in it, she discovered how tense he was. He wanted her to himself. That was very pleasing.
He fell silent during the short journey along the Grand Canal in their private gondola. They drifted along, the water gleaming like a sheet of black satin, reflecting the lamps and braziers burning on the walls of the buildings. Occasionally a waterbus would chug by, or an elegant motor launch, but otherwise the canal was peaceful.
In the quiet of the night, Rozzano's hand stole into
hers and she imagined they could be lovers from another age as the boat skimmed beneath the fabulous palaces, their huge beamed rooms illuminated by glittering chandeliers.
âI'm in a fairy tale,' she said with a sigh. âOnce I was Cinderella and met a prince. I seem to have avoided the wicked ugly sisters!'
âWatch out for the wolf.'
âWrong fairy tale, darling!' she said with a giggle. She leaned back against the cushions, entranced by the beauty of the canal, and gripped his hand very tightly. âI can't believe it, Rozzano,' she confessed. âI could burst with happiness!'
âPrefer it if you didn't,' he drawled. âRuin my tux.'
âWe're coming to the Rialto Bridge. Which is your house?' she asked eagerly.
So far, he'd refused to show her the Barsini palace, saying they'd visit it when they had plenty of time and she could appreciate it properly.
âThe one with green and gold striped awnings.'
Her eyes sparkled as they drew nearer. It was, she knew, thirteenth-century and therefore smaller, with intimate rather than grand salons. Once it had boasted its own dock, where cargoes had unloaded from Africa and the Orient--gold and silver, brocades and silks, amber and carpets.
âNext time we come here it will be our wedding day,' he said quietly.
âSurely not!' she said in surprise, as the gondolier manoeuvred the boat to the jetty. âWe're bound to be visiting your brother before then!'
âWe won't have time,' he said shortly, waiting while a flunkey in velvet knee breeches carefully assisted her onto the jetty. âMillions of things to do, Sophia.'
They walked into a hall and Sophia's first impression was that it shimmered, its ochre walls almost obliterated by gold tissue streamers and green satin ribbons. It was so packed, they could hardly move. Hundreds of people were chattering excitedly, their exotic Mediterranean colouring heightened by the glittering clothes and jewels of the women, and the sharp white tuxedos of the men.
Green and gold predominated in the stunning flower displays hanging from the coffered ceiling, the occasional frond trailing alarmingly close to a tiara or two. She inhaled the air, trying to remember some of her grandfather's teaching.
âAttar of rosesâcan you smell it? Jasmine. Patchouli...and...I think there's a base note of sandalwood,' she said to Rozzano, raising her voice above the noise.
âAlberto will be proud of you! The beams are sandalwood. Warmth and moisture intensify the aroma,' he replied, speaking with his mouth close to her ear.
They began to push through the packed bodies. Now she could hear the faint strains of a string quartet, playing eighteenth-century music. âIt's very lavish!' she yelled.
Rozzano grunted. âEnrico doesn't stint himself.'
He grasped her elbow tightly and she winced. âYou're hurting!' she complained.
âI'm sorry.'
She frowned. He looked pale. People were greeting him and staring at her. He acknowledged them briefly but forged on without making introductions, pushing her up a flight of stairs and into a slightly less crowded ballroom, which glowed warmly from the light of a crystal chandelier and hundreds of candle-sconces.
âRozzano! My dear brother!' The two men embraced and Enrico turned to her. âSo this is Sophia!' He kissed
her three times, holding her shoulders and gazing at her with the same intent stare as Rozzano's. But his faceâalthough handsomeâwas softer, less chiselled and his mouth a weaker version. âBut I am amazed!' Enrico murmured, turning her face this way and that. âShe's not like a horse at all!'
Sophia giggled. âI should hope not!'
âYou described her badly,' Enrico reproached his brother. âShe's lovely. How you could say her voice sounded like the neigh of an old mateâ?'
âOK, Enrico,' Rozzano drawled. His eyes were like slits, belying the bland expression on his face. âEnough jokingâ'
âJoking? It's what you said!' his brother protested. Turning indignantly to Sophia, he explained. âI rang him when I saw a rather indistinct picture of you in the newspaper here. He said that there was nothing between you and, besides, youâ'
âLooked like a horse.' She had managed to recover her equilibrium, but inside she was quaking. Was that really Rozzano's opinion? âExcuse me,' she murmured sweetly, desperate to put space between herself and Rozzano. âI'm going to graze.'