The Italian's Bride

She was moving restlessly around the room now, her arms wrapped defensively around her body. There was a battle going on inside her head; he was sure of that. The caring side of her, her natural instinct to please, was warring with the side that stubbornly refused to take hand-outs.

There was a tiny frown line between her eyes and a few beads of sweat glistened on the sweet curve of her short upper lip. The desire to kiss away both those outward indications of her inner stress, to fold her in his arms, hold her close, was becoming intolerable. He was going to have to deal with this unwanted and despicable surge of lust in the only way he knew how.

He bunched his hands in his side pockets to stop them reaching out for her and drawled as coolly as he could, ‘Don’t dismiss my father’s generosity out of hand, Portia. I know it would hurt him.’ If she was as soft-hearted as he had recently come to believe she was, that should do it. ‘I have to leave this evening—business—but I should be back here in a month’s time. Will you promise you’ll stay, not mention anything about leaving to anyone, until I return?’

He had never had any reason to distrust himself around any woman before now. So the simple solution was to remove himself out of temptation’s way before he found himself doing something that would make him despise himself—behaving like his half-brother!

The only indication that what he’d said had had any effect on her at all came in the sudden slump of her shoulders, the way she came to an abrupt standstill and appeared to be studying her feet.

Acutely aware of the waiting silence, Portia grappled with wildly conflicting emotions. He was leaving the villa, and she knew she would miss him so dreadfully that her heart was already aching.

But because she felt so drawn to him, because his mere presence in the same room made a wild sexual assault on her senses, it would be far better if he weren’t around, wouldn’t it? And without him here it would be easier to stick around for just a little while longer than she’d already decided on.

She lifted her head but didn’t look at him as she mumbled wretchedly, ‘OK. I promise.’

She heard his quietly voice, ‘Thank you.’ Heard him leave the room and close the door gently behind him.

And then discovered she was crying.

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘BOY, did I need that!’ Lorna carelessly replaced her empty espresso cup on its saucer, dabbed her glossy lips with a tissue and leaned back gracefully on her chair, lifting her face to the sun.

She’s gorgeous, Portia thought, not for the first time. Clouds of dark chestnut hair, greeny cat’s eyes hidden now behind smoked lenses, and a truly enviable svelte, sleek figure.

Quite why Vito had been unfaithful to his elegant wife she couldn’t even begin to imagine. And if he’d had to play away from home why pick on someone as ordinary and, let’s face it, as dumpy as she was?

Wriggling uncomfortably on her own seat, she cleared her throat and suggested tentatively, ‘Alfredo will be waiting to take us back to the villa. Do you think we ought to make tracks?’

In any other circumstances she would have enjoyed sitting at a pavement café table in the sun-soaked Piazza della Republica, relaxing and people-watching—especially after a long and hectic morning being dragged from one exclusive air-conditioned shop to another.

Lorna had appeared to be in her element, but Portia had felt simply awful as she’d been chivvied into trying on masses of things she didn’t think she’d ever have the courage to wear. Everything had become a blur of beautiful, classy garments, scarves, shoes and underwear, all bearing designer names she would never in a million years have associated with herself.

Whose idea it had been to dragoon Lorna into accompanying her she would never know and didn’t like to ask. It seemed very cruel. True, both Eduardo and Lucenzo had told her that Lorna’s marriage had been on the rocks, but it couldn’t have been pleasant for the other woman to be ordered to spend what amounted to a small fortune—albeit of someone else’s money—on the female who had borne her dead husband’s son!

‘Let him wait; that’s what he’s paid for,’ Lorna drawled lazily. ‘For all he knows we might be in need of a late lunch. Are you quite sure you won’t?’

‘No, thank you.’ Portia’s voice was on the strangled side of prim. She didn’t mean to sound ungracious but she desperately wanted out of this awkward situation.

She flushed

a dull scarlet when Lorna pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and leaned forward, her cat’s eyes level and direct.

‘Lighten up. I’m not your enemy, you know. I don’t know how long your affair with Vito lasted, and I don’t want to. You took nothing from me that I hadn’t wanted to be rid of.’

She took a pack of cigarettes and a slim gold lighter from her bag, lit up, and regarded Portia—who was now cringing with embarrassment and guilt—through a blue haze of smoke.

‘Vito had dozens of affairs throughout our marriage; he couldn’t help himself. Let’s face it, it wasn’t a marriage made in heaven. He proposed only because after what happened to Lucenzo’s wife his father was putting pressure on him, as his second son, to marry and produce an heir.’

She flicked ash into her saucer and then inhaled deeply, giving a slight cynical smile. ‘I was socially acceptable—unlike his preferred playmates, the topless models, wannabe actresses, that sort. And I accepted him for his family wealth and connections. We both knew what we were doing, but towards the end I’m pretty sure he was going to divorce me. You see, once I’d got that ring on my finger I’d made it plain I wasn’t a breeding machine. Not a maternal bone in my body, I’m afraid. We had endless rows about it—he said I was reneging on our bargain.’

She shrugged and theatrically turned her mouth down at the corners. ‘And perhaps I was. We both behaved badly, so I suppose you could say we deserved each other.’

Portia didn’t know what to say. It all sounded so callous and heartless. But then she didn’t have a sophisticated bone in her body, and certainly couldn’t understand how the minds of the super-rich worked.

Maybe this was her opportunity to find out at last what had happened to Lucenzo’s wife. Had he divorced because she couldn’t or wouldn’t produce an heir?

Scowling unconsciously, she twisted her hands together in her lap. He’d left on business this morning and would be away for a whole month. She should be able to stop thinking about him, but she couldn’t.