It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Julia James

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СКАЧАТЬ Simon would want to live in London again and that they’d start out in a small flat like other young couples but, to her surprise, this hadn’t been his idea at all.

      ‘I like working from home,’ he’d told her. ‘And there’s endless room at the Manor to set up a proper office for me.’ He’d smiled at her. ‘And you’d hate to live anywhere else, darling. Admit it.’

      ‘But don’t you want us to have a home of our own?’ she’d asked, vaguely troubled.

      ‘But we have,’ he’d said. ‘And it’s beautiful. Besides, what would you do all day in some grotty flat? You’re hardly one of nature’s housewives.’

      No, she thought wincing at the memory. He could have been right about that, although she realised now that his wish to live at the Manor had not been prompted by any consideration for her.

      But she’d wanted so badly to believe he was in love with her and that, this time, everything would be wonderful. She’d needed to think it. Had clutched at it desperately, as if it was a life-belt and not a straw.

      Had never asked herself seriously whether, as her father’s heiress, it was the lifestyle he wanted more than herself. The big house, with its paid staff to do his bidding.

      Perhaps I didn’t dare ask too many questions, she thought. In case I didn’t like the answers.

      She shook herself out of her depressing reverie. She had work to do and there was no hired help at Braeside Cottage. It was all down to her here and she was determined that, whatever her private failings as a wife, Raf would have nothing to complain of in her domestic abilities.

      She looked at her watch. It was nearly midday already, so she would cook the chicken for supper. But, for now, she would make some coffee, she thought, glancing restively towards the stairs. And maybe some toast. However, if Raf wanted some, he could fetch it. Even if he did consider he was on honeymoon, and the thought made her writhe inwardly, there would be no bedside delivery service.

      She filled the kettle and was just getting out the mugs, when there was a loud knock at the front door.

      She opened it to find Angus McEwen standing on the doorstep. He was wearing a thick jacket and what appeared to be fisherman’s waders over his trousers.

      ‘Hello, there,’ he greeted her, grinning broadly. ‘I came to make sure you were all right. See if you needed help lighting the fire or anything.’

      ‘You mean you’ve walked up in all this?’ Emily forced a smile of her own. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’

      ‘Och, it’s no so bad.’ He indicated the waders. ‘These belonged to my late uncle. He was great on the fishing and Auntie Maggie always said they’d come in handy.’ He paused. ‘Did you know someone’s left a vehicle here? I don’t remember seeing it last night.’

      ‘I drove it here from the airport,’ Raf’s voice said from behind her.

      Emily hadn’t heard a sound from the stairs, but she saw Angus glance past her, his face changing to an expression of astonishment that was almost comical. Except she didn’t feel like laughing.

      Instead, she tensed as Raf came to stand beside her, his arm encircling her and his hand resting on her hip in a gesture of deliberate possession.

      He was not dressed, unless she counted the robe he was casually holding around him as clothing, and she was never likely to do that.

      ‘Buon giorno,’ he drawled. ‘May we help you in some way?’

      Angus opened his mouth, tried to speak, failed and began again. ‘I—I’m sorry. I—I don’t mean to intrude, but I thought—I understood that Miss Blake was here alone.’

      ‘That is indeed what she planned originally,’ Raf said softly. He drew Emily slightly closer to him. ‘But I decided to surprise her.’

      Angus’s ears suddenly went pink, indicating that the probable nature of the surprise was not lost on him.

      Emily, realising the floor was not about to open and swallow her as she’d prayed it might, found her own voice, ‘Angus, this is my husband, the Count Di Salis.’ She paused, allowing him to assimilate this, then continued, ‘Rafaele—Mr McEwen’s aunt looks after the cottage for—for your friends. He was—concerned that I was here by myself in this weather.’

      ‘So I heard as I came downstairs, and I am glad that I can reassure him that you are perfectly safe, mi amore.’ Raf was smiling. ‘You have had a long walk, my friend,’ he added pleasantly. ‘Believe that I shall be sure to inform Signora Albero, when I see her next, how well you look after her tenants.’

      ‘Aye, well—thanks,’ Angus managed as he turned away. Then paused, his hand going into an inside pocket. ‘I thought you might like a Sunday paper, Miss—er, Mrs…’

      ‘Contessa,’ Raf supplied.

      Angus nodded, gulped and handed over the folded broadsheet. ‘And it said on the radio just now that the weather’s going to get worse before it gets better,’ he added glumly. ‘I thought mebbe I should mention that too.’

      For a moment they watched him trudge off, then Raf drew Emily back into the cottage, firmly closing the door.

      ‘So what was that all about?’ She turned on him hotly. ‘Why not have a banner made with SHE’S MINE in huge letters?’

      ‘It will not be necessary. He got the message. I regret his disappointment,’ he added lightly. ‘But the exercise will do him good.’

      ‘He came here to help,’ she protested. She shook her head. ‘You can’t believe, can you, that someone might actually go out of their way—just to do a kindness?’

      ‘I think it unlikely, yes.’ Raf followed her into the kitchen. ‘For a man to walk so far in these conditions to see a beautiful girl with no hope of reward? Never.’

      ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t judge other men by your own dubious standards, signore.’

      ‘You do not think I can be kind?’ He shrugged. ‘On the other hand, you have not granted me much opportunity to prove otherwise, carissima.’

      ‘If you’d wanted to be kind, you’d have stayed away.’ Emily spooned coffee into the cafetière with fierce precision. Then paused. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

      Raf burst out laughing. ‘You are a girl of contradictions, cara. Would you not prefer to let me starve?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But coping with a corpse wouldn’t be practical.’ She hesitated again. ‘We could have poached eggs on toast, perhaps.’ She added stiltedly, ‘I—I thought I’d roast the chicken this evening—if that’s all right with you.’

      ‘But of course.’ He paused. ‘So we have an empty afternoon before us,’ he went on softly. ‘How can we occupy it, I wonder.’

      ‘You could always start by putting some clothes on,’ Emily suggested tautly.

      ‘Perhaps.’ He paused. ‘Or maybe I might persuade you to take yours off instead.’

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