The Impatient Groom (17 page)

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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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As she would for... She winced. How many years of emptiness would there be? The cold, loveless days stretched ahead with a terrifying certainty. She didn't
know if she'd have the strength of mind to sustain her decision to remain in a loveless marriage.
She dragged her teeth over her lip to silence the terrible pain inside her. She had to stop wishing for that golden future she'd expected as her right, and face facts. Between now and the end of her bath, she had to accept what had happened and plan her own future.
CHAPTER NINE
 
T
URNING off the taps, she found her favourite bath oil on an elegant Georgian table and added it to the water, doing her best to ignore her delicate lace nightdress and peignoir on the nearby chaise longue. They'd been chosen with such care. Such joy.
She stepped into the bath and looked around, scowling. Oil paintings hung on the walls, silver candelabra romantically lit the room, a central chandelier in Venetian glass sent rainbow colours from its sparkling crystal facets. Even the darn bathroom was filled with relics of the past! she thought bitterly. And she'd become just another part of Barsini tradition. A baby machine.
‘Not this time!' she muttered rebelliously at the watching ancestors.
She lay in the bath, miserable and angry at the same time. Every now and then she'd feel cold and she'd top up the water, adding a little more of the subtly perfumed oils she'd come to adore. She could have luxury for the rest of her life. But it was worth nothing without Rozzano's love.
The love she craved must come from elsewhere. From children. She would revert to her old life of caring for the underprivileged—but this time she'd have the money to fund her plans.
‘Sophia?'
‘Not ready!' she croaked.
‘I am.'
The door opened. Hastily she slid under the silky blue
water as he entered. Her eyes rounded. He was wearing a towel and nothing else. The hunger rose in her body, shortening her breath. And a savage pain seared through her quaking frame.
She had to tell him. Before it was too late.
‘I wondered if you were all right,' he said fondly.
‘Shattered.' Horrified at the frightened little whisper, she closed her eyes and hoped he'd take the hint. ‘Headache.'
‘It's not surprising. I'll give you a massage. Come on,' he murmured, his voice unnervingly close. ‘I'll help you out and get you into bed—'
‘No, Rozzano, I—'
She gasped, her eyes snapping open at the touch of his hand on her breast A groan escaped her before she could stop it and he kissed her open mouth luxuriantly while his hand slid over the swell of her soapy breast, making her moan and writhe in need.
‘Are you teasing me? I do believe you are!' he said softly into her mouth. ‘Witch! I'll make you regret that!'
His fingers were everywhere, tormenting her, making her cling to him helplessly. And then she was being lifted into the air and carried, still dripping, into the bedroom.
Every time she fought to speak, he silenced her with bruising, passionate kisses. She quaked as he slid her onto the sandwashed silk sheets. He was intensely aroused and so was she, however unwillingly. And she loathed herself for betraying herself so easily.
Frantically her body slid beneath his in an attempt to wriggle free. Laughing, he pinned her with his weight and with a groan of anguish she grabbed his face and ground her mouth against his, hating, wanting, despising, needing him with a passion that terrified her.
The smooth glide of his hands over her wet, fevered
body was sending her mad with frustration. Her glittering eyes met his and she bucked in shock that he could still maintain that glib pretence of loving desire. Furious with his duplicity, she felt compelled to move her body fiercely beneath him for some kind of physical relief because she knew that she would be forever a virgin, forever childless. And that terrible injustice hurt her beyond belief.
Distraught, she gave an involuntary wail of despair, which caused him to freeze.
‘Sophia, darling, what is it?' he asked hoarsely.
Sobbing, she fought him, beating her fists against his chest and feeling empty and ashamed that she should still love him despite everything she knew.
‘I hate you!' she screamed hysterically, wrenching this way and that as he caught her wrists and pushed her arms over her head. Frightened and vulnerable, her nude body horrifyingly available to him, she stared in terror at his shocked face and realised that revenge wasn't sweet at all. It was agony.
‘Please don't hurt me!' she begged. ‘Just leave me alone!'
When he flinched but made no other response, she let out a shuddering sob and said in a cold, dead voice, ‘Let me go, Rozzano. It's all over between us.'
He tried to speak but seemed too dazed. Amazingly, she felt sorry for him-actually wanted to comfort him! She was mad. Had he thought of her when he'd gone off to find Arabella on the day of his wedding? Had he given a damn about his bride when he'd eased off Arabella's lacy-topped stockings-which, she reminded herself in rage, were just like the ones
she
wore because
he
adored them ?
‘Traitor! Get off me!' she seethed, beside herself with
misery. ‘Get off before I scream the place down and ruin your damn reputation!'
Like an automaton he obeyed. Reached for his robe and knotted the belt. Stood staring at her as if he were in some slow-moving nightmare.
‘I don't understand,' he said dully.
‘Don't you?' she scathed, scrabbling to sit up and pulling the sheet over her.
It was embroidered with violets, she thought bleakly. They could have been making love here in this lovely four-poster, easing the ache in their bodies, confirming their commitment to one another. They would have slept afterwards, and then in the morning they would have snuggled into each other's arms and discussed their plans for the day and for the rest of their lives...
Damn herself for putting herself through such self torturel She wouldn't daydream again! The cold, hard reality of the future was hers—and hers alone.
‘Sophia!' Evidently confused, he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, his face tight with strain.
‘Explain!'
he jerked out passionately. ‘What do you think you're doing?'
‘It's simple,' she said in a low tone. She drew in a long breath from her cramped lungs. ‘Think, Rozzano. What is your worst nightmare?'
‘That you should cease to love me,' he rasped without hesitation.
She almost faltered. He was so slick, so quick with the right answer that she would have been convinced if it hadn't been for the evidence of her own eyes.
‘No,' she said bitterly. ‘That's not it. Try
childlessness.
I'm your means to an heir.
That's
your dream, isn't it?'
There was a coldness about his face now, the aristocratic features taking on a hard, chiselled appearance.
‘You know I want us to have children,' he replied, without emotion.
Her mouth curled in contempt. Now they were getting to the real man, to the coat-of-arms heart that sat inside his damn princely body, crushing any stray feelings thai might ruin his wretched game plan!
‘You want them so badly that you'd sell your soul to the devil to get them!' she ground out.
His dark eyes flared with anger and then were veiled. ‘I don't know what you mean,' he said stiffly.
‘Yes, you do!' Impatient with the throbbing of her head, she sat up and grimly pulled out all the pins holding her hair. As it tumbled down to her shoulders in angry, bouncing waves, she flashed a malevolent glance at him and said, ‘Get this straight, Rozzano. I won't ever have your children. Not unless you intend to rape me!'
He felt a roaring in his ears as her words struck him like a death-blow. And the past came back to destroy him. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. It couldn't happen, he told himself, fighting for sanity. Not again.
His brain refused to function. There was only the raw nightmare, filiing his head with an unbearable insistence. To escape it, he had to move, do something. Fight his way back to normality.
‘Rozzano!'
Her shocked scream brought him out of his daze. He looked down at his bleeding hand, clenched in a fist, and the shattered crystal goblets on the table. With a muttered curse at his blind stupidity, he strode to one of the basins in the room and stuck his fist under the cold tap.
She was by his side. Naked and damp beneath the hastily donned bathrobe. Smelling delicious. Warm, infinitely desirable. He jammed his teeth together, refusing to give way to his instincts which demanded that he
should turn to her, take her in his arms and kiss the nightmare away.
‘Is there any glass in your cuts?' she asked anxiously.
‘I don't know.' And he didn't much care.
‘Let me look—'
‘No, Sophia!' He saw her flinch at his roar and began to examine his hand, knowing he must control himself whatever the provocation.
‘I have some tweezers, if—'
‘Not necessary.' He took the scrubbing brush and some soap and swept the wounds, glad of the pain.
Sophia had cried out as if his action had hurt her too. Her hand had gone to her mouth and she'd looked shocked by his extreme action. He wrapped a linen cloth tightly around his fist and blessed the diversion. Now he could show composure, regardless of the fear he felt in his heart.
‘Right,' he said grimly, turning to face her. ‘What lies has Enrico been spinning now?'
She took several steps back, her expression cold and hurt. ‘None.'
‘Then—'
‘I saw you!' she spat. ‘Stripping Arabella at
my
wedding reception!'
He started. ‘How-?'
‘What the hell does it matter
how?'
she yelled. ‘You were making love to her a few hours after your
marriage
! You
rat
! Couldn't you have been more discreet? Couldn't you have
pretended
we were happily married—?'
‘I didn't make love to her!' he snapped, appalled by what she was saying. ‘I was telling her to get dressed—'
‘Liar!'
‘It's true, dammit!' .
‘It didn't look like that to me! And you can deny it
till you're blue in the face but I won't believe you! I should never have married you! But you wove your web of lies and charmed me as you charm everyone. You've got your bride. You don't need to worry that she's a golddigger. Unfortunately, your bride has cottoned on to the kind of man you are and she doesn't love you
at all.'
‘You desire me,' he drawled, ruthlessly killing his stunned reaction stone-dead.
‘If you think I'm going to sleep with you for sex alone, then you don't know me!' she blazed.
‘Why not? You want children!' he shot out, before he could stop himself.
She flinched. ‘You
brute!'
she cried hoarsely, close to tears.
He was furious with himself for speaking without thinking. But he realised that he'd been harbouring the hope that if he could get her into bed they could heal their differences.
‘We have common desires,' he said, more controlled now.
‘Yes. I'd love to have babies!' she cried. ‘You're the one who's taken that choice away from me! Now I'll have to be content with caring for other people's children, working in an orphanage, setting one up perhaps. It'll be some consolation, Rozzano-but it won't be what I want!'
‘Then come to bed with me.' He let his hunger for her burn in his eyes. She shuddered, her mouth sweetly sensual as her tongue slicked over her parted lips. Desperate to grab her, he took a steadying breath and began to fight for his dream. ‘We're both tired. For the sake of appearances we must sleep in this room. Lie in my arms and let's talk this out.'
‘No!' She wrapped her robe tightly around her as if to
shut him out for ever. ‘I've decided what I want our future to be, Rozzano.'
‘Have you, indeed?'
‘In public, we'll be like any normal, happily married couple. For my grandfather's sake only. Not for your family honour or your darn pride!'
‘And in private?' he enquired, a terrible coldness stealing through every vein in his body.
‘You don't touch me. No sex. No sly caresses. Nothing! And you'll take no part in D'Antiga business from now on. You have your own business to run. I intend to get involved in charity work, especially in orphanages. That's where my future lies, Rozzano. As for yours, you can do what you darn well please, providing you don't hurt Grandfather. Now, perhaps you'd like to take a pillow and make yourself comfortable on the sofa.'
He stared at her aghast. She'd worked everything out. Her eyes blazed with a hatred that sliced deep into his cold body and he could see that she was adamant. But he had to make one final effort.
‘I married you,' he said hoarsely, ‘with one thing in mind—'
‘Yes!' she spat. ‘The future of the house of Barsini! Wealth marries wealth. Very convenient. Well, I've had it up to
here
with your family!' she cried, slashing her hand across her throat in a violent gesture. The past is
history—‘

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