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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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Her spirits fell. He hadn't been looking for her, after all.
‘Arabella,' Letizia said cynically. ‘I might have guessed.'
‘What makes you think that? I can't see her,' Sophia said haughtily.
‘Neither can he. She's just left the room by the far door. He'll go after her in a moment.'
It did seem as if she was right. Sophia took a hasty gulp of her Bellini, refusing to be upset by Letizia's innuendo.
‘You're wrong. He's not interested in her,' she said coolly, as he disappeared into the next
salotto.
‘Prove it. Find him, you'll find her,' sneered Letizia.
‘I trust him. He loves me,' Sophia countered, angry with the woman for being so malicious.
‘He had one love only in his life, and she died,' Letizia said nastily. ‘He wouldn't risk his heart a second time. He was brought up to deny his feelings. Enrico told me that his father would rap them both on the knuckles if they showed emotion in public. Their mother hardly saw them. She partied all night and slept all day. Neither Rico nor Zano will surrender to love. They have the Barsini coat of arms where most men have hearts!'
‘No, Letizia, you're wrong,' she said angrily. ‘Whatever Enrico's faults, Rozzano does know how to love—'
‘Oh, he's a great
lover,'
sneered Letizia. ‘He has a reputation for that.'
‘I won't listen to this any longer!' Sophia seethed. ‘I'll prove you're wrong!' And, fuming, she hurried to catch him up.
Letizia was mistaken—it was only her twisted mind that saw desire where none existed. Rozzano wasn't a two-timer. Everyone here adored him. He couldn't possibly fool all these clever and perceptive people.
He was wonderful. The best. Kind, good, hard working and a fabulous lover. There wasn't a treacherous bone in his body.
Yet her knees knocked together as she followed
Rozzano's trail, blushing at the teasing she encountered whenever she asked where he'd gone.
Suddenly she was alone, in an empty corridor. And she could hear the raised voices of a man and a woman coming from behind one of the doors. A horrible coldness invaded her body. Folding her arms around her for comfort, she tiptoed closer to the source of the sound.
‘Oh, thank goodness it's you, Sophia!' came Jenny's relieved voice from behind her.
Sophia spun around in embarrassment. ‘What's the matter?' she asked nervously.
‘I'm lost. Went to find the loo and this is where I ended up—Hey, who's that yelling?'
‘Could be anyone,' Sophia said uncomfortably, knowing Rozzano's voice far too well. It was obvious that he'd totally lost his temper. She'd never heard his native tongue sound so brutal. Panicking, she said, ‘Jenny, this doesn't concern us. I think we'd better go—'
‘Good grief!' Jenny blanched, a look of horror spreading over her face. ‘Oh, Sophia!' she gasped, her hand clapped to her mouth.
Feeling sick, Sophia steadied herself against the doorjamb while Rozzano continued to vent his spleen and Jenny's eyes grew rounder and rounder.
Her spirits sank. She'd known he had a violent temper, which he'd kept from her very successfully. What else had he managed to hide?
‘What is it?' she demanded in a hoarse whisper.
'N-nothing! Better go as you said—‘
‘You've heard something awful! I know it!'
Jenny looked panic-stricken. ‘Don't ask, Sophia!' she begged.
‘You must tell me!' She caught Jenny's shoulders in
a firm grip, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘You must tell me! You're my friend,' she muttered fiercely.
Jenny continued to stare at her in mute dismay and Sophia gritted her teeth. ‘I can't!' her friend said eventually.
‘You owe me this!' hissed Sophia. ‘We started school together. I untied you from the bike shed. You and Maggie stopped that bully picking on me. I warned you about that awful Jack Spencer. We did everything together till you went off to university. Don't let me down, Jenny! Tell me what he's so angry about!'
Jenny chewed her lip. ‘I swear, you don't want to know—'
‘I do,' Sophia said bleakly. ‘Can't you see? I know something's wrong and it'll eat away at me until I find out!'
Her friend's head drooped and she mumbled, ‘You'll wish you never asked.'
‘But I am asking. So give!'
Jenny's eyes filled with tears. ‘It's...Rozzano. He was yelling that... Oh, God! That he—he married you to get an heir. That he doesn't love you and never will. Sophia, I—!'
‘No!' Horrified, she shrank from her friend's outstretched arms. ‘Leave me, Jenny,' she whispered, her face a mask of ice. ‘Thank you for telling me. I prefer to know the truth.' Suddenly she felt numb, almost paralysed with shock. ‘Don't tell anyone, not even Maggie.' Her agonised eyes met Jenny's. ‘Please do this for me!'
‘Sophia...' Jenny began brokenly.
‘No!' she breathed, stepping back, her eyes wide with alarm. No sympathy. Or she'd disintegrate. ‘I'm OK,' she said quietly, only a faint tremor in her voice. ‘Please go. I have to have this out with him and whoever's in there.'
She waited till her friend had fled in tears. A stubborn pride was holding her up and her muscles were so rigid that she could only move jerkily towards the door like a clockwork doll. Before she could reach the handle however, the door flew open and to her surprise Enrico came hurtling out.
White-faced and shaking like a leaf, he closed the door behind him. ‘Sophia!' he said in sharp shock.
‘What were you doing in there?' she asked in bewilderment.
‘I—I...' He licked his lips, seemingly struck dumb.
‘I know Rozzano's in there!' she declared in an undertone. ‘I heard him! Don't try to cover up for him. What's he doing, Enrico? Who's he with?'
Enrico's eyes narrowed slyly. ‘I was...er...having a word with him. I—I thought he ought to be with his guests, with you and...not anyone else.' Enrico's laboured explanation suddenly gathered speed as if he was more confident. ‘He shouted at me because I interrupted him in the middle of—'
‘All right!' She'd got the picture. She didn't want diagrams. ‘Let me pass,' she whispered, white-lipped.
‘You can't go in there—' he blustered.
‘Let me pass!' she repeated hysterically through her teeth.
Enrico shrugged. ‘If you must.' He gave her a pitying look. ‘I did what I could, Sophia. I suppose you have a right to know what he does on his wedding day.'
Sophia gulped. Her legs were shaking so much she hardly knew how she would stay upright. ‘Exactly. Move aside.'
‘Why don't you take a little look without him knowing? Allow me.' With an expression of great concern, he
silently opened the door a fraction and beckoned her to the narrow gap.
Her heart in her mouth, she peered into the room. And her world fell apart.
Rozzano had his back to her. He was handing a pair of stockings to Arabella, who wore only a sexy red basque and briefs, her dress having been hastily discarded in a scarlet pool of soft silk on the carpet.
Sophia's eyes closed in utter despair. For several seconds nothing happened inside her. The extent of his betrayal had left her unable to breathe or move or speak.
Then her brain whirred into life, torturing her, telling her that everything between them had been a lie. The tender glances, the courtship, the passionate declarations of love...
Stifling a sob, she finally managed to turn away just as Arabella was reaching a hand around Rozzano's waist. She had no wish to witness his actual infidelity. Quietly Enrico closed the door. With a taste of bile in her mouth, she let him help her to the far end of the corridor where she collapsed weakly on a settle.
Wanting to scream, she pushed the knuckles of her clenched fist into her mouth and sank her teeth into her hand. He'd made a fool of her, over and over again! He'd persuaded her to marry him when he knew what marriage meant to her, how sacred, how special it was! She couldn't believe anyone could be so beautiful and plausible and yet be utterly rotten and
poisonous
underneath!
‘I'm sorry,' Enrico said silkily, pawing her arm. ‘I did my best but everyone thinks he's some kind of demigod—'
‘I know, and more fool us!' Her eyes flashed as hard and as brilliant as diamonds. ‘Don't tell him I was here,'
she warned Enrico vehemently. ‘I don't want him to know. Yet.'
‘No, no,' he promised eagerly. ‘It'll be our secret.'
‘And don't tell anyone else, either,' she muttered through her teeth. ‘If my grandfather hears, he could die of shock.' In her passion she grabbed Enrico's lapels and thrust her face near to his. ‘Do you understand that, Enrico? No gossip, not a word, a hint of this, or by God you'll regret you ever lived!'
‘Not a word!' he squeaked in terror. She released him and he whined, ‘What are you going to do, Sophia?'
Her chin lifted with cold pride. Rozzano had taken her dreams and trampled on them. He deserved to be in hell.
‘That's simple. Ruin his plans,' she said venomously.
CHAPTER EIGHT
 
H
ER anger sustained her through the banquet, although every second was an ordeal. She had decided it was vital that Rozzano suspected nothing until she was ready to tell him in private. How could she ruin the day for her blissfully happy grandfather?
Assuming an expression of bright interest in everything, she resolutely avoided Jenny's anxious gaze. She laughed a great deal and only she knew it was sometimes close to hysteria.
And she hid her lack of appetite too, pushing the asparagus mousse around her plate, rearranging the fresh lobster, hiding slices of tournedos of beef beneath the wild mushrooms from the Veneto and managing successfully to taste very little of the sorbet.
The cheese and parfait she left alone but accepted a Turkish coffee and iced water, realising that her head was spinning. In an attempt to blank out Rozzano's betrayal, she'd taken too much of the different wines which had accompanied each course. A little too late, she realised she needed to keep her wits about her if she was to stay one jump ahead of the deceitful Rozzano.
After the guests had opened their gifts of crystal clocks and gold pens—or carefully chosen toys in the case of the children—the speeches began. Sophia listened to the praise heaped on her fickle husband's head and her anger intensified.
He'd deceived all these good people. Minor European princes and princesses, counts and lords, maids, boatmen
and shrewd businessmen. All had fallen for his charismatic charm. What chance had there been for her to evade his silver tongue?
Wondering if her brilliant smile would freeze on her face, she began to plot her revenge in earnest, hating herself for what she was doing-but hating him far, far more.
 
They flew in Rozzano's executive jet from the small private airport on the Lido, arriving at their honeymoon destination a short while later. Rozzano had offered her the choice to go anywhere in the world. She had asked to stay in his sixteenth-century summer palace: a Palladian villa in the Veneto, the mainland to the north of Venice—‘terra firma', as Rozzano called it.
The villa had sounded very romantic. On the fourth of June, for about four hundred years, the Barsinis had packed all their furniture, tapestries and possessions and barged them up to Villa Barsini to escape the threat of malaria from the canals—though there was no such danger nowadays. Here, he'd assured her, a small, discreet staff would ensure their total privacy.
For a brief moment at the reception, she'd hovered on the brink of demanding that Rozzano should go alone and leave her at Ca‘ D'Antiga. But she'd immediately imagined her grandfather's surprise and the questions he'd ask. She couldn't do that to him. He adored Rozzano and she didn't want to be the one who enlightened him as to his grandson-in-law's true nature.
Her grandfather must never know that there was anything wrong with her maniage. Her heart sank. That meant that for the rest of her grandfather's life she'd have to act a lie. It was too appalling to contemplate.
The present was bad enough. As they drove between
the huge cast-iron gates towards the villa, the thought of being alone with Rozzano day after day filled her with horror. Without love, without the deep friendship she'd believed they'd shared, the long days and nights would drag.
Agitated, she fidgeted with the skirt of her Valentino suit, suddenly hating its Barsini green and gold. Her eyes blazed. They were colours she'd never wear again!
‘Won't be long, darling,' Rozzano said, in cheerful ignorance of her mood.
She stretched her mouth into a smile and nodded, pretending an interest in the surrounding parkland. What ever would she do with herself for a week? Gloomily she supposed that she could get up late, spend her days walking and swimming and go to bed early.
The one consolation was that it wouldn't be for long. They had both been eager to begin their married life in the D‘Antiga palace. Her stomach lurched with intense misery. She'd had such dreams of their rosy future. And now her marriage was nothing but a sham.
The scenery became a blur as her thoughts tumbled in confusion. Desperately she battled for composure as Rozzano enthusiastically pointed out the deer, the place where he used to hide when his father had beaten him, the beautiful view across the valley...
‘You were beaten?' she said, suddenly picking up on what he'd said.
He grimaced. ‘I tended to be too exuberant for Father's liking, too ready to show how I felt.'
A beaten child often became violent to others... ‘And what did your mother think about this?' she asked, cold to the bone.
‘I don't know. She supported my father,' he replied, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.
‘Did she love you?' Sophia asked, wondering nervously what Rozzano would do when she refused to provide him with an heir. She looked at the strength of his arms and shoulders and shrank back into the seat.
‘I've no idea,' he mused. ‘I hardly knew her.'
This was the first time he'd spoken of his mother. Up to now, he'd always changed the subject. Curious to understand the relationship between mother and son, Sophia asked quietly, ‘She cuddled you?'
‘Never. I had plenty of affection from my English nanny and English governess, though. Most aristos employ English tutors for their children—that's why we all speak English so well. Don't worry,' he said, stroking her hand where it picked anxiously at her jacket hem. ‘We won't be remote from our children.'
‘No,' she agreed bleakly. ‘We won't.' And omitted to add that there wouldn't be any. She swallowed, fearing the moment she'd have to tell him.
‘Look, this is my favourite view of the lake,' he said eagerly. ‘I'll take you to the island on it. We'll have a picnic if the weather stays warm enough.'
She must have made some kind of response that satisfied him because he continued driving. But she was thinking about his upbringing and how it had made him the man he was, outwardly suave and smooth, inwardly repressed and angry, with a flagrant disregard for the notion that love and marriage went hand in hand.
She should have listened to Letizia. Rozzano's attitude was indeed bred in the bone. She trembled. The deed was done. She was irrevocably married and she would have to prepare herself for a different sort of marriage from the one she'd expected. Perhaps, she thought soberly, it would be better never to daydream again, then she would never be disappointed by reality.
Pale and wan, she stepped from the limousine, her tension softening a little as she gazed at the beautiful building. It had a classically Roman appearance with graceful columns, domes and a portico.
In that moment, Sophia understood how completely Rozzano had been steeped in history. Every step he took had been trodden by his ancestors.
It was hardly surprising that preserving the past had become more important to him than living for the present. In his mind, the survival of the family had to take precedence over its individuals, whatever the cost. He'd been forced to sacrifice his jealously guarded freedom to marry her. She'd put her trust and her heart in the care of a man who didn't deserve either.
Her stomach swooped. He'd be furious that his sacrifice had been in vain. A shiver ran the length of her body.
At the moment, he was all smiles and being hugged by the staff as if he were a long-lost son. She found a smile and pasted it to her face.
‘
Buon giorno. Che piacere incontraria,'
she said, beginning her greetings in hesitant Italian. And she too was enveloped in loving arms and found herself being passed from one delighted person to another. And, desperate for love and affection, she responded warmly, while everyone exclaimed extravagantly over her clothes, her hair, and her beauty.
‘So lovely! Ah,
principe,
she has the face of a Madonna!' declared a man who must surely be the gardener.
‘I know,' he said softly, disengaging himself from an extraordinarily emotional embrace with a tall and stately woman with steel-grey hair. He put his arm around Sophia and caressed her cheek. ‘I don't deserve her at all.'
When he translated that, he was met by a chorus of protests.
‘The husband, he is a good man,' confided a jolly woman in a starched apron. ‘Maddy!
In inglese.'
The grey-haired woman smiled happily. ‘I'm Maddy Clark; I used to be Rozzano's nanny. Welcome,
principessa,
and congratulations. I'm sure you'll be very happy together.'
Sophia accepted Maddy's hug and kisses in amazement. ‘Thank you. I'm glad to meet you. Rozzano's talked about you so much.'
The look Maddy gave to Rozzano spoke volumes. She adored him; that was clear. ‘I knew it would take a special woman to capture Rozzano's love,' she said quietly. ‘From what he's said about
you
,' she added, her eyes twinkling, ‘I know he's found her. And I can only tell you that you'll never find a kinder, more thoughtful, more loving man—'
‘Maddy! Please!' Rozzano implored, looking embarrassed. ‘You two can compare notes another time.'
He began to speak to his staff in Italian. Maddy saw Sophia's lack of comprehension and translated for Sophia's benefit.
‘He's thanking everyone for getting the villa ready,' Maddy said. ‘He knows it's taken a lot of work. And he's promising that you'll wear your wedding dress for them to see—and that we'll all have a small reception here in compensation.' She sighed. ‘He's so thoughtful. Always was. What a wonderful life you will have together!'
Sophia's eyes misted over. Fortunately Maddy thought she was being sentimental, because she smiled and patted her shoulder understandingly.
‘Claim your bride,' she said to Rozzano.
Smiling happily, he swept Sophia off her feet and carried her over the threshold to the sound of applause. Everyone loved him, she thought bleakly. Did he never show his dark side to anyone but her?
Her pulses raced as he continued on, up a grand staircase. ‘Maddy should have come to the wedding,' she said, blurting out the first thing she could think of.
‘She's terrified of crowds,' he explained. ‘She's stayed here ever since I grew too old for her care. Are you all right, darling? You seem to be shivering.'
Looking concerned, he hurried on and set her down in the bridal suite, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. And she remembered how a long, long time ago she'd wondered what this moment would be like in a marriage of convenience. Now she knew.
A fit of nerves started her teeth chattering. ‘I'm cold,' she said feebly.
His eyes kindled. ‘I'll warm you.'
‘No!' She backed away, her eyes wide with terror.
‘Sophia, sweetheart!' he coaxed, taking a step towards her.
‘Don't come any nearer!' she cried in panic.
He raised his hands and stayed put ‘Why don't you have a bath?' he suggested gently. ‘I'll shower and we can—'
‘Yes. A bath.'
‘Poor darling!', he crooned understandingly. ‘It's been quite a day! You were wonderful, Sophia. When I turned and saw you for the first time, you looked so beautiful that I thought my heart—'
‘I'll have that bath,' she mumbled abruptly, her voice high and unnatural.
‘Sure.' He reached out and drew her quaking body to his. The kiss was sweet and tormenting, gentle enough
not to be a threat, but igniting her nevertheless. ‘That's better,' he murmured into her hair. ‘See you in a short time, mmm? The bathroom's in there. All your things are ready for you.'
She fled and shut the door behind her in relief. Her legs wouldn't hold her and she slumped to the floor. It was his warm and loving voice she couldn't bear. The adoration in his eyes. The tender smile on his devastatingly handsome, treacherous,
vile
face.
Limply she struggled to her feet and searched for a key or a bolt to lock the door. There was nothing. But then it was a bridal suite and brides weren't supposed to keep their husbands out.
Resigned, she tore off the hated suit and flung it into a corner. Tears streamed down her face as she kicked off the pretty, glove-soft stilettos, which she'd so admired. They'd go in the bin tomorrow, she vowed grimly.
Almost blinded by tears, she reached out to turn on the taps. While the water ran into the deep marble bath, she scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and stared down at herself miserably. She'd chosen her underwear with loving care, thinking of the moment when Rozzano would run his hands over the sensuous satin briefs and bra. She'd imagined him kneeling at her feet, slowly unfastening her suspenders and sliding the sexy lace-topped stockings down, kissing every inch of exposed skin as he did so.
Instead, he'd had more than his fill of lace-topped stockings for one day and here she was, undressing herself.

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