Jess's Promise

Jess lifted her curly head to send him a significant look that brought a frown to his lean, hard-boned face. ‘I should think so too with your reputation.’

‘If you’re basing your opinion on what’s been printed about me, keep in mind that the British press only began depicting me as a wild, promiscuous playboy after I dared to dump their darling, Gilly Carlton.’

His reference to one of the most popular soap stars on British television made her raise her brows. ‘I didn’t even know that you and she—’

‘We didn’t—she was always drunk. A couple of casual dates and I’d had enough of her falling out of chairs, cars and doorways!’

‘But my opinion of you wasn’t formed by anything I read in the newspapers,’ Jess confided, giving him a deliberately mysterious glance that was pure provocation. ‘To be honest, I had a source of information m

uch closer to home.’

‘Who?’

‘I’m not telling.’ Throwing back the sheet, Jess pulled playfully free of his hold and slid off the bed. ‘Just for once I’m going to grab the first shower.’

‘I’m feeling lazy. We could stay here tonight, dine out and go home tomorrow. It is our last week.’

‘I would love that.’ Padding into the compact en suite bathroom, Jess was ridiculously pleased that he appeared to be as aware as she was that their honeymoon idyll was almost at an end. It touched her that he was keen to make the most of what time was left.

If she had not known that they had married simply to conceive a child, she would have described the last six weeks they had shared as a magical time of discovery and joy. As it was, she knew she had to keep her feet firmly pinned on the ground and pour cold water on her more fanciful thoughts and reactions for, within days, she would be returning to England, her job and usual routine. And since she was beginning to suspect that she might already have conceived she was wondering just how much she could hope to see of Cesario in the future.

Did he too suspect that she might have conceived? Had he noticed that her menstrual cycle had not once kicked in since they’d became lovers? Surely he must have noticed even though he hadn’t said anything? Perhaps she should visit the local doctor when they got back to Collina Verde. Could it have happened so fast? Her face warmed as she towelled herself dry and stood back to allow him access to the shower. They had had sex a lot. Some days they had barely got out of bed. And even now she could hardly keep her hands off him. It shocked her how much she craved him, how often they could make love and for how little time that fierce hot arrow of desire would remain satisfied. So, it was not beyond the bounds of belief that she might already have fallen pregnant. She was excited and apprehensive—excited at the prospect of a baby, but apprehensive that conception would mean the end of all intimacy between her and Cesario. After all, once a baby was officially on the way, their ‘project’ would be complete and there would no longer be a reason for them even to live below the same roof.

From the bedroom window, she looked out over the textured terracotta roofs that lent such warmth and colour to the panoramic view of the old town as the medieval houses beneath them stepped down the hillside. Her memory served up cherished images of the relationship they had created between them. He had bought her a gilded image of a saint in the market at Castelnuovo di Garfagnana, which he had insisted reminded him of her. She thought the resemblance was in his imagination alone. Possibly that was the first thing he had said and done that he should not have in the first forty eight hours of their stay in Italy, she mused unhappily. There was no room for such frills and fancies in a practical marriage of convenience.

But then there had been very little practical about the experiences they had shared. In the tour of Tuscany that Cesario had treated her to, he had walked hand in hand with her like a lover through winding streets and alleyways, happy to shop in tiny traditional workshops and sample the freshest of food in the picturesque restaurants. The same male who had warned her not to fall in love with him had moved the goalposts without telling her and she had been afraid to remark on it lest it change the wonderful ambience between them. They’d had picnics amongst the wildflowers on deserted hillsides and long chatty romantic evening meals on the elegant loggia at the house listening to the classical music she loved. She had adored Florence and Siena, but had found both cities too hot and crowded at this time of year and he had promised to bring her back once the height of the tourist season had passed. Now, she wondered if he would ever keep that promise.

She had learned that he was human too, once she came to appreciate that he occasionally suffered from shockingly bad migraines, which he flatly refused to talk about. Indeed he seemed to look on any admission of feeling unwell as the behaviour of a wimp and his ridiculous stoicism brought a tender smile of remembered amusement to her lips. Somewhere along the line, she acknowledged ruefully, their holiday had turned into a proper honeymoon.

He had bought her a fabulous designer bag in Florence and a painting that she found so ugly she had threatened to dump it while he believed it would grow on her and refine what he saw as her unsophisticated taste in art. And then there was the jewellery…he really loved to give her jewellery and to see her wear it. Her fingers touched the delicate choker of golden leaves that curved round her throat like an elegant question mark. He had bought it for her thirty-first birthday, which he had remembered without any prompting from her. He had also insisted that she had to have a diamond pendant and earrings if she was not to look only half dressed beside Alice when they dined out with the other couple.

He had shown her Etruscan tombs and magnificent palazzos and taught her to distinguish a good wine from an indifferent one. He had laughed when she’d told him that she had not known what cutlery to use on that disastrous first dinner date and she’d had to explain how intimidating she had found that because, born into wealth and fine dining as a way of life, Cesario had not initially understood the problem.

She had fallen in love with her husband and did not know how she could possibly have avoided doing so, because Cesario di Silvestri had somehow succeeded in making himself indispensable to her comfort and happiness.

Over dinner that evening, Cesario was still demanding that she name her mole concerning his reputation and she finally took pity on him and confided that her parents lived next door to his former housekeeper.

Cesario frowned. ‘She signed a confidentiality agreement. All my staff have to. I can’t believe she’s gossiping about my private life…’

Jess winced. ‘I should have kept quiet and I probably shouldn’t have listened either. Dot does seem to cherish a certain resentment over being put into retirement before she was ready to go.’

‘Because an audit revealed that she was helping herself to the household cash and selling off wine on the sly,’ Cesario chipped in drily. ‘That’s why she was put out to grass and Tommaso was brought in.’

Jess was shocked by that explanation. ‘But you didn’t prosecute her?’

‘She’s quite an age and had worked for the Dunn-Montgomery family all her life. Rather than make an example of her in my role as the new owner of the Halston estate, I thought it best to just write it off to experience and replace her.’

They walked hand in hand back to the little hotel. Three quarters of the way across the moonlit piazza he paused and kissed her with a slow, deep hunger that made her heart crash against her breastbone.

‘I misjudged you,’ she confided in a guilty rush. ‘I believed all the bad stuff. I thought the very worst of you from the moment we met.’

Cesario looked down at her in the moonlight, dark eyes gleaming above classic high cheekbones. ‘But you don’t now.’

‘Are you a love cheat like the tabloids say?’ Jess asked abruptly, allowing her need to know free access to her deepest insecurities.

Cesario groaned out loud in dismay at that blunt query. ‘Is my answer going to be held against me?’

‘Probably,’ Jess declared.