The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (12 page)

“Telling her at this point would only upset her. You don’t
want to see that, I assure you.”

“What do you mean?”

“She can easily become emotional to the point of hysteria.
Once that happens, only medication can help her.”

She stared at him with a frown between her brows. “There
must be something else.”

He ignored the idea as if she hadn’t spoken. “Afterward, she
broods about things, so needs more medication for depression. Carita’s accident
could be a worse ordeal for her than anything we’ve see before. You have no
concept of the harm that can be done by your meddling.”

“If Carisa is often depressed, I don’t wonder at it,” Amanda
said, holding her hair out of her face as it threatened to whip into her eyes.
“She seems to get no exercise, have no planned activity.”

“You know nothing about it.”

“You’re wrong. I was counselor for several summers at a camp
for children with Down’s syndrome, many of them only a little younger than
Carisa. They had exercise classes, dancing classes, took long walks, learned to
draw, paint and even use a sewing machine with supervision. Carisa seems
perfectly capable of doing the same.”

He gave her a long look. The tension around his eyes seemed
to fade a fraction, though it was difficult to tell whether he was struck by
what she’d said or had gained control of his temper. When he made no reply,
Amanda went on.

“She isn’t a child, Nico. Neither of your sisters are
children or elderly women who can’t get out and about. What you seem to be
doing is keeping them so dependent they never make a decision of any kind.
Certainly they’ll never learn how to protect themselves.”

His lips curved in a grim smile. “Unlike you, with your
independence and self-possession that protects you so well nothing touches
you?”

It wasn’t true, Amanda thought with an ache in her chest.
She erected defenses because she could not bear the pain of everything that had
happened to her and those around her. “That may be,” she said, her voice not
quite steady, “but I am not so innocent that just any man can take advantage of
me. Nor am I so uncaring that I can’t see it would be a mistake to encourage
Carisa to treat all men as she treats you. I did try to tell her.”

He snorted before turning back to the road again. “I
noticed. Kissing men is yuck.”

Not all men…

Amanda dismissed that instant mental objection. “Yes, well,
it seemed something she might understand without going into unnecessary detail.
And I would never encourage her to dress in a way that might attract the wrong
kind of attention from men. But I can’t see that a little lip gloss and perfume
or touch of mascara will lead to tragedy.”

“You must allow me to judge what is best for her.”

“As you are the judge of all else in the lives of those
around you,” she said as she flung herself against the seat back and crossed
her arms over her chest. “I’d think you’d get tired of it. It must be so
exhausting, being God and Jupiter rolled into one!”

~ ~ ~

She was the most infuriating woman he had
ever met, Nico told himself. He’d like to wring her neck. That was after he’d
left her so limp from his kisses and hot caresses, the spontaneous combustion
as he plunged into her soft heat, that she couldn’t speak, much less argue with
him.

She didn’t understand how very dangerous things could be for
a woman, how vital it was to have male protection. Men who could not or would
not protect the women in their lives deserved nothing but scorn. He could never
abandon his duty toward his
nonna
, his aunt, his sisters or his future
wife and daughters. It was in his blood, an instinct so ancient it felt as if
it had always been with him. He well remembered his father and his grandfather
telling him when he was barely able to walk that he must protect the women of
his family with his life.

He didn’t restrict them unduly. No, not at all. They went
shopping whenever they pleased, attended entertainments, enjoyed holidays.
Carita had been to parties and dances, had been thinking of going to the
university in Milan in the fall. He was careful of their well-being, yes, but
he was not dictatorial nor was he smothering.

He was not.

Was he?

“Nevertheless,” he said, his voice as stern as he could make
it, “you will refrain from unsettling Carisa’s routine or her habits. You may
well cause harm, and you will not be here to repair the damage.”

“No, thank heaven,” she answered with a lightning-flash of
anger in her eyes. “You have gone far enough toward adding me to the women you
seem so determined to keep from harm. There’s no telling what you might
consider proper if I stayed very long.”

What would Amanda Davies do if he really did add her to the women
in his life? He could, he was almost certain, make it impossible for her to
resist the desire she held in such restraint. It would be no more than her
brother had done to Carita.

One seduction for another, it would only be justice. If
Amanda Davies came to him, there would be no dishonor in it. And if her
surrender happened to coincide with his most virulent desire, well, that would
be his good fortune.

He would have to think about it.

It was possible he could not stop thinking about it.

6

The hospital room was empty. The atmosphere
was sterile, quiet and dim. The bed lay flat with its sheets carefully tucked
and pillow smooth and neatly aligned.

Jonathan was not there.

Panic squeezed Amanda’s chest. Whirling, she ran back out
into the hall. Nico was far down its length, walking toward his sister’s room.
She forgot how angry she was with him, forgot how autocratic she considered
him. All she could think of was the power he held to make things happen.

“Nicholas! Nico!”

He spun around with quick concern in his eyes, came quickly
back toward her. “What is it? Tell me!”

“Jonathan — he’s not here. He’s gone!”

Those few words were all that was required. Within seconds,
Nico had summoned a nurse to his side. He fired succinct questions, received
answers.

Though flustered and apologetic, the woman could not tell
them the whereabouts of the English
signor
. No, no, he was not in the
morgue as his sister seemed to fear. He had been allowed to get up, to walk a
few steps with crutches. The orderly had left him sitting in a chair beside his
freshly made bed no more than a quarter hour ago.

No, indeed, there had been no visitor to take him away.
Signor Davies must have walked away under his own power, such as it was. He
could not have gone far.
Allora
, had he not passed out, or very near it,
while taking his first few steps since the accident?

Amanda looked at Nico as a thought struck her. “Jonathan
pulled out his IV before because he was determined to see Carita.”

“Ah. Yes.” Taking her arm, he walked quickly with her toward
his sister’s room. They pushed inside with a quiet sigh of the pneumatic door.

Jonathan hovered over the bed, his voice a low murmur as he
spoke in broken phrases. He was ghostly pale and his eyes suspiciously moist.
His tousled hair hung over his face, he carried his injured leg bent at the
knee and his hand gripping the crutch that supported him was bloodless. He had
wedged the other crutch into his armpit and was caressing Carita’s still face
with the back of one knuckle.

“What are you doing?” Nico demanded. Releasing Amanda, he
strode forward and clamped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder to pull him back.

Her brother winced away, over-balancing at that sudden
change of position. Like some toy that had lost its power, he twisted at the
waist, began to fall.

Amanda screamed, plunging forward to grab Jonathan’s arm and
a handful of his robe. She couldn’t hold him. It was Nico who threw an arm
around her waist and grabbed Jonathan’s crutch with the other, using it as a
brace.

Together, he and Amanda supported Jonathan until he could
struggle upright again. They stood in a rigid circle of three, breathing hard.

Nico recovered first. “
Mi dispiace
,” he said in
rough-edged apology. “I didn’t think. I just saw you—”

“It’s all right, I’d have done the same,” Jonathan answered.
His smile was valiant but edged with agony, both physical and emotional, as he
looked from Amanda to Nico. “I shouldn’t — probably shouldn’t have touched her.
It’s just I wanted so badly for her to hear me? I wanted her to know I’m here
for her.”

Nico’s face tightened, though he made no reply. With one
hand still supporting Amanda’s brother, he looked around for a chair, pulled it
toward them and helped lower him into it.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in brusque concern. “Do you need
something for pain?”

Jonathan shook his head. His gaze went to the girl in the
bed, and it was as if no one else existed. If he was curious at all about their
sudden appearance, he didn’t show it.

“
Bene
.” Nico signaled to the nurse who stood in the
open doorway, an imperious gesture which asked that she come back later. He
helped Jonathan slide further back in the chair then, and set the crutches out
of the way, though not so far that they couldn’t be reached in case of need.

Amanda watched while contrary feelings collided inside her.
Though she was furious with Nico de Frenza for causing her brother to fall, she
was also grateful for his quick action that saved him from hitting the floor.
His highhanded way of issuing orders rankled, but she was grateful he had not
insisted Jonathan return at once to his own room.

Beneath these things ran fervid awareness. She could still
feel the imprint of where his arm circled her while they supported Jonathan,
was shaken by the impact of his effortless strength, also his fierce,
protective tenderness toward his comatose sister.

How she longed for those things, almost against her will.
She was capable of looking after herself, of course she was, yet she ached to
be relieved, at least now and then, of the burden of responsibility she’d
carried since her parents died. She wanted to be held close while finding the
surcease of intimate bodily contact. In his arms, it seemed, everything would
be all right. He would make it all right.

Such foolish thoughts, when she had been so angry with him
earlier. Turning sharply away from Nico, she moved to stand looking down at his
sister.

This was the first time she had seen Carita de Frenza, the
girl with whom Jonathan had fallen so completely in love. She was a slender shape
under the sheets, petite and fragile. Masses of dark, curling hair trailed from
under the bandaging on her temple, and dark lashes, curling at the tips, made a
fringe along her closed eyes. Her features were elegantly Roman, with a narrow
feminine nose and high cheekbones. Her mouth was beautifully formed, with a
sensual lower lip that seemed a family trademark. Even in her comatose state,
there was a sweetness about her that reminded Amanda irresistibly of her twin.

“I wish you could have met her before,” Jonathan said, his
voice a thread of sound as he sent Amanda a brief smile. “She wanted so badly
to know you, wanted to go to the States on holiday to meet you.” He stopped
abruptly, as if his throat had closed.

Amanda touched his good shoulder, giving him a reassuring
smile. “I’m sure the two of you will still do that.”

“It will be some time before she is well enough for such a
thing,” Nico corrected, “if ever.”

Above her brother’s head, Amanda met his hard gaze. He held
it as if daring her to comment. She firmed her lips, reluctant to disturb
Jonathan by arguing, also uncertain of how much Carita might understand in the
depths of her coma. Still, it was not possible to remain completely silent.
“You can’t know that.”

“Never mind, Mandy.” Her brother put a hand over hers where
it rested on his shoulder, looking up at her with a rueful smile. “You really
can’t blame Nico. He’s just doing the same as you, taking care of somebody he
loves.”

It was one way to look at it, not that she was inclined to
be quite so reasonable. She said no more, however, for her brother’s sake.

They stood in silence, watching the slow rise and fall of
Carita’s chest. Amanda caught herself studying the flat area of the girl’s
abdomen, thinking she could not be so very far along in her pregnancy,
wondering how the baby was faring, and if she knew, somehow, that the new life
inside her was safe, at least for now.

It would be a beautiful baby if it looked like its mother,
but especially if it had the lucky gene mixture of both its parents. Any child
of Nico’s would look much the same, or so she imagined, with dark, curling hair
and black, black eyes. If she was the mother, would it not also look a little
like this one Jonathan had fathered?

Amanda drew a quick breath against the sudden hollow ache
inside her. It didn’t mean a thing, of course, but was the natural reaction of
a woman in her childbearing years to the thought of a baby of her own. It
certainly had nothing to do with Nico de Frenza.