Forced Bride Read online

  Sara Craven

  THE FORCED BRIDE

  TORONTO NEW YORK LONDON

  AMSTERDAM PARIS SYDNEY HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM ATHENS TOKYO MILAN MADRID

  PRAGUE WARSAW BUDAPEST AUCKLAND

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  COMING NEXT MONTH

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘NO,’ SAIDEmily. She spoke with cool clarity, but her green eyes flashed at the two lawyers on the other side of the

  desk. ‘Not a divorce. You will kindly inform your client that I want an annulment.’

  The younger man gasped audibly and received a reproving glance from his senior, Arturo Mazzini, who took off his

  glasses, wiped them and replaced them on his nose.

  ‘But, Contessa,’ he said gently, ‘that is surely just—a question of emphasis. The important matter must be the actual

  dissolution of your marriage, not how it is done.’

  His placatory smile was not returned.

  ‘I can decide for myself what is, or is not important,’ said Emily. ‘A divorce—even the no-fault variety that your client is

  offering—suggests that a marriage really existed between us. I wish to make it perfectly clear to the world that it has not.

  That I am not, and never have been, the wife of Count Rafaele Di Salis—in the usual sense of the word,’ she added.

  Signor Mazzini looked appalled. ‘Clear—to the world’ he repeated. ‘But you cannot mean that, Contessa. Any

  arrangement between yourself and the Conte Di Salis must be a private one, its terms not meant to be divulged.’

  ‘I wasn’t responsible for the arrangement of my marriage,’ Emily told him stonily. ‘My father was. Nor did I offer any

  guarantees about the ending of it. And please don’t call me Contessa,’ she went on. ‘It’s hardly appropriate under the

  circumstances. Miss Blake will be just fine.’

  There was an uneasy silence. Signor Mazzini produced a fine linen handkerchief and applied it to his forehead.

  ‘Is it too warm in here,signore ’ his antagonist asked more kindly. ‘Would you like me to open a window’

  Both men repressed a shiver. There had been a sharp frost that morning and the formal gardens around Langborne

  Manor were still silvered over. Indoors, too, the elderly central heating system left a lot to be desired, although, to Signor

  Mazzini’s certain knowledge, the Conte Di Salis had offered more than once in the past three years to have it replaced.

  ‘You are all goodness,’ he returned. ‘But no, I thank you.’ There was a pause, then he leaned forward. ‘Contessa—Miss

  Blake—I beg you to reconsider. The divorce would be a mere formality and the settlement terms my client proposes are

  more than generous.’

  ‘I want nothing from the Count.’ Emily lifted her chin. ‘As soon as I’m twenty one, he will no longer be in control of my

  affairs. My father’s money and this house will finally be mine. I need nothing else.’

  She sat back in her chair, the low winter sun slanting in through the long sash window behind her striking fire from her

  auburn hair.

  Young Pietro Celli pretended to busy himself with the papers in the file in front of him while he studied her unobtrusively.

  Too thin, too pale and altogether too tense, he thought, recalling with renewed appreciation the frankly sinuous curves of

  the Count’s latest mistress, which he had been permitted to admire on a number of occasions—although only from a

  discreet distance.

  The slim hands were bare, he noticed, so heaven only knew what the Count’s soon-to-be-ex-wife had done with His

  Excellency’s wedding ring, or the Di Salis sapphire, which would have to be returned, of course, however the marriage

  reached its end.

  But her eyes—Madonnamia !—they were amazing—the colour of emeralds, and with those long lashes too. However,

  the rest of the face—nondescript, he decided with a mental shrug.

  And clearly a virago along with all her other faults. Small wonder, then, if a connoisseur of women like Rafaele Di Salis

  had opted for a marriage in name only. Who could blame him

  ‘Unless, of course, your client has gambled my entire inheritance away on some dodgy financial deal,’ this impossible

  young woman was adding lightly. ‘Perhaps you’ve been sent here to break the bad news.’

  Signor Mazzini bristled, while Pietro felt his jaw drop and had to hastily recover himself.

  ‘That is a most damaging allegation,signorina ,’ the older man said at last, his voice icy. ‘Your husband has dealt with the

  trust in an exemplary manner, have no doubt of that. You will be a wealthy young woman.’ Much wealthier than you

  deserve, the note in his voice suggested.

  Emily sighed. ‘I wasn’t serious. I’m perfectly aware that Count Di Salis is one of the stars of the world of finance.’ She

  added stiltedly, ‘And, naturally, I’m grateful for anything he’s been able to do on my behalf.’

  The lawyer spread his hands, almost helplessly. ‘Then, if I may be permitted to ask, why not show your gratitude by

  acceding to the plan for a divorce’

  Emily pushed her chair back and rose. She walked over to the window and stood looking out. Her slender figure was

  clad in a cream woollen shirt tucked into close-fitting black cord trousers, with a wide leather belt reducing her waist to a

  handspan. The rich glow of her hair was drawn back to the nape of her neck and fastened with a black ribbon bow.

  She said quietly, ‘Because, when I remarry, I wish the ceremony to be held in our parish church, but the vicar is a strong

  traditionalist and won’t agree if I’m divorced. I also intend to wear white for the occasion so that my bridegroom will

  know that he isn’t getting damaged goods.’ She paused. ‘Is that plain enough for your client’

  ‘But your present marriage is still a fact, Miss Blake.’ Signor Mazzini’s reminder was brusque. ‘Is it not a little soon to be

  planning another wedding’

  ‘There is no marriage,’ Emily said. ‘Just a business deal nearing the end of its shelf life. And I can hardly be bound by that

  when considering my—future.’

  She turned back. ‘Now may I offer you both some tea’ Her polite smile did not reach her eyes. ‘I’m afraid the coffee in

  this house would hardly appeal to you.’

  Signor Mazzini rose. ‘I thank you, but no. I think we both need a little space—to consider. Perhaps we may have a

  further discussion tomorrow,signorina , in the hope you may have decided to—think again. Because, I tell you plainly, His

  Excellency will not agree to an annulment.’

  ‘But why not’ The emerald eyes opened wide. ‘He must want to be rid of me, as much as I want my own freedom.

  And, anyway, I deserve some reward for three years of dutiful boredom,’ she added, shrugging. ‘I’ve acted as his

  hostess here and in London when required, and turned a blind eye to his notoriously public private life. A steep learning

  curve if ever there was one.’ Her tone stung. ‘Now he can oblige me for a change.’

  ‘In your English history,signorina , you have a custom, I think, of throwing
down the gauntlet.’ Signor Mazzini’s tone held

  a touch of grimness. ‘In this case, such a challenge to His Excellency would not be wise.’

  Emily’s laugh held a hard note. ‘Oh, dear, have I insulted Count Rafaele’s machismo Dented his reputation by suggesting

  that there’s at least one woman in the known world who doesn’t find him irresistible—and that’s his alleged wife’ She

  shrugged. ‘Well, any damage to his male pride is—just unfortunate, because I have no intention of changing my mind.

  Please make that—ultra-clear to your client.’

  She moved to the fireplace, where a log fire was smouldering, and rang the bell beside the mantelpiece.

  ‘Also suggest to him that we begin proceedings to end the marriage without delay,’ she added crisply. ‘After all, my

  twenty-first birthday’s in three months’ time and I would really like to be single again by then.’

  ‘I will convey your wishes to His Excellency,’ Signor Mazzini said with a small stiff bow. Or, at least, a carefully edited

  version of them, he amended silently as the housekeeper arrived to show them out.

  When she was alone, Emily dropped limply into the big leather armchair that stood to the left of the wide hearth. She’d

  presented a bold front to her visitors and only she knew that her stomach had been churning and her legs trembling under

  her throughout the interview.

  But it was done and she’d taken her first shaky steps towards freedom. And now her visitors would be on their way back

  to Rome or New York—or wherever Raf happened to be at present—with the bad news.

  If that was what it was, she thought defensively. Why should he care about one less notch on his bedpost among so

  many

  She curled up in the big wing-chair that had once belonged to her father and closed her eyes.

  Oh, Dad, she whispered forlornly. You did me no favours at all when you pushed me into this farce of a marriage.

  I should never—never have agreed to it, but what else could I do when you were so ill and made me promise

  But at least it’s not a life sentence. Raf’s keeping his word about that.

  On the other hand, she reminded herself defensively, he’s doing me no favours either. He only agreed to marry me

  because he was in debt to my father and this was a way of paying it off.

  Because I was certainly the last bride he’d ever have considered in ordinary circumstances.

  Not that I cared at the time what he thought or what he wanted. Not when I was so miserable about Simon. When I

  really thought he’d gone for good.

  At the time I felt so lonely and humiliated that if Count Dracula had proposed I’d probably have accepted him.

  Not, she told herself, lips tightening, that Raf had any vampire qualities. He was more on the lines of a black panther,

  roaming the financial jungles to seek his prey. And how he’d ever become involved with her father was one of life’s great

  mysteries.

  Emily had first become aware of him when she was seventeen and had just arrived home from school for the Christmas

  holidays.

  She’d come flying into the house as usual, leaving the chauffeur to follow with her luggage, and gone straight to her

  father’s study, flinging the door wide with an exuberant, ‘Pops, darling, I’m home,’ only to find herself confronted by a tall

  young man, someone she’d never seen before, rising politely from his chair at her entrance.

  She halted instantly, lips parting in surprise and embarrassment, her astonished gaze registering a confused but vivid

  impression of black, curling hair, tawny skin and lambent hazel eyes flecked with green and gold that, she realised, were

  studying her closely in return. And, at the same moment, she saw the firm mouth quirk as if some sudden thought had

  amused him.

  She felt herself bristle instinctively and said quickly, stammering a little, ‘Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were engaged

  with anyone.’

  ‘It’s fine, my dear. I’m sure Count di Salis will forgive your unceremonious arrival.’ Her father was smiling as he came

  round the desk to take her hands and kiss her, but his greeting seemed faintly muted and he didn’t sweep her up into the

  accustomed bear hug. ‘Isn’t that so, Rafaele’

  ‘It was a charming interruption.’ The newcomer’s voice was low and resonant, his English flawless. He stepped forward,

  taking the hand she had awkwardly proffered. ‘So this is your Emilia,signore .’

  His touch was light, but she felt a sudden jolt of awareness, as unexpected as it was unfamiliar. It was like receiving a

  minor electric shock, she thought, unnerved, and wanted to snatch her fingers from his clasp, at the same time telling him

  her name was plain ‘Emily’ and not some Italianised version of it which somehow made it personal to him. A notion she

  found oddly disturbing.

  And in the same instant found her hand released, as if the Count had sensed her inner withdrawal and reacted to it

  instantly.

  He said with perfect courtesy, ‘It is my pleasure to meet you,signorina ,’ then looked across at Sir Travers Blake. ‘You

  are a fortunate man, my friend.’

  ‘I think so too.’ Her father’s hand rested momentarily on her shoulder. ‘Now, run along and get your unpacking sorted,

  my pet,’ he added quietly. ‘And we’ll join you for tea later.’

  Normally, Emily thought, as she looked back, if Dad had been busy when I arrived home, I’d have kicked off my shoes

  and curled up in this very chair waiting for him to finish. Yet somehow I knew, even then, that I wasn’t going to be

  allowed to say a proper ‘hello’ and that everything was in the process of changing.

  What I didn’t bargain for was the extent of that change.

  When she’d reluctantly emerged into the hall again, she’d found Mrs Penistone, the housekeeper, hovering and looking

  anxious.

  ‘Oh, Miss Emily, I was supposed to tell you that your father couldn’t be disturbed,’ she said apologetically. ‘I hope he

  isn’t cross.’

  ‘He didn’t seem to be.’ Emily swooped on her last remaining bag and started up the stairs. ‘Don’t worry about it, Penny

  dear. We’re all having tea together later, so I guess I’m forgiven for blundering in. And I’ll apologise again when his

  visitor has gone.’

  ‘Oh, but he’s not going,’ Mrs Penistone informed her. ‘He’s staying for Christmas. Your father told me yesterday to

  prepare the Gold Room for him.’

  ‘He did’ The news stopped Emily in her tracks. ‘But he never has guests to stay at Christmas. He’s always said peace

  on earth should start right here at home. He only gives the Boxing Day party on sufferance to the selected few.’

  ‘Well, not this year, Miss Emily.’ The older woman pursed her lips. ‘He’s invited everyone in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Even the Aubreys from High Gables’ Emily tried to sound casual. ‘Goodness, he is pushing the boat out.’

  He must really want to impress Count Whatsit, she thought as she went into her room. But if that meant Simon Aubrey

  was coming to their party, then she could almost be grateful to this unexpected intruder.

  My gorgeous, wonderful Simon, she whispered silently, and smiled as she began to conjure up his image in her mind. But

  the picture that presented itself was a very different one. Not Simon’s boyish good looks at all, but an older, darker face

  that watched her with a faint smile. A face that, while intrinsically and powerfully masculine with its taut lines, high

  cheekbones and aquiline nose, managed at the same time to be—
somehow—beautiful.

  And she found herself suddenly remembering her art teacher describing the subject of some Renaissance painting as

  looking like ‘one of the fallen angels’.

  Now I know exactly what she meant, Emily thought. Because there was no hint of softness about this Rafaele Di Salis.