Secrets of Castillo del Arco (15 page)

And it crushed him like a weight on his chest that, for all he had given her, he might be the one to extinguish that light.

‘Another win,’ he conceded, although it hardly seemed a win now when it was the last place he wanted to be with Gabriella. She should be somewhere far more deserving of her company right now. Somewhere light, beautiful and free from the darkness of the past. And she should be with someone far more worthy.

But she was with him now, and there was a picnic waiting, the curve of sand in the cove lying inviting below. If he could not give her happiness, he could at least give her a taste of what she deserved.

He turned, holding out his hand to her as they negotiated the first of the uneven stone steps down to the
beach, and she smiled her thanks, her hand warm and surprisingly strong in his. Surprisingly addictive. He wished it could be more than just her hand he held, and for a moment he just looked at her.

The soft breeze tugged at her fringe over those smiling, brandy-coloured eyes, toyed with the skirt of her white sundress, kicking up the hem around her long, tan legs. For a moment he almost forgot himself and thought about taking her into his arms and crushing her to him, wanting to possess her in every sense of the word.

‘Raoul,’ she whispered. He saw her mouth form the word and for the first time he noticed how good his name looked on her lips.

And he turned away, setting off down the stairs, knowing he could not afford to notice such details, knowing there was no point to it. But he would accept her smiles and laughter. He would take them and store them away in a special place in his mind so that, once she was gone, he could take them out, dust them off and remember how precious it had been to have her if only for such a short time …

The beach was as protected as Natania had promised, the cove acting like a sun trap, the air still and surprisingly warm. Gabriella kicked off her sandals and wiggled her toes in the sand. Delicious.

Just like Raoul’s gaze had been moments before
. She was still half-breathless with its impact, still dizzy with the anticipation and the desire.

He wanted her. And that knowledge made her body bloom in readiness. Was that why he had brought her
here, to seduce her on the sandy shore today, before they joined as a married couple tonight?

The cove was larger than you could tell from the castle, full of secret grottoes hidden behind giant boulders so they were utterly private. She glanced up at the castle where it sat heavy and imposing on the cliff, recognising it from the painting in the hall near her room. She mentally counted rooms, working out which one was her bedroom, checking out the angles from where the kitchen must be, frowning when she noticed the turret.

‘What’s that room?’ she asked. ‘The one with the turret?’

He shook his head without bothering to look that way. ‘Nothing. A store room.’

‘It must be somewhere over that locked door. Are there stairs inside?’

‘Perhaps. It is not something I bother to think about. Do you want to eat?’

She squeezed her eyes against the light and put a hand up to shade her brow, trying to make out details. ‘The view from there must be wonderful.’

‘How about the view from here?’ he suggested, and she turned back to him to see. He had found a place bathed in the warmth of the sun and yet totally private from any inquisitive eyes at the castle. Not that she imagined Natania and Marco would be bothered to watch them when the pair were clearly more involved in each other. They laid the blanket down upon the virgin sand and set the picnic basket in the middle.

‘I hope you’re hungry,’ he said. ‘Natania has prepared an entire feast.’

He pulled out a plate of chicken, a dish of plump, green olives stuffed with feta, another plate of cheese, some crusty bread and the rustic salad. Everything looked and smelt delicious; she was more than hungry, but food was not her greatest need at this time.

She accepted a glass of the local village wine, though, ruby-red and spun with gold in the afternoon sun. And she lay sideways on the blanket, one arm propping up her head, the other hand nursing the wine glass. She didn’t have large breasts but she knew the angle would spill them together and accentuate their curves. She was determined to seduce him, if he didn’t seduce her first. ‘How long have Marco and Natania worked for you?’

‘Ten years,’ he said, selecting one of the fat olives. ‘Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. Why do you ask?’

‘They seem very close.’

‘They have been together much longer than they have been with me.’

‘They clearly love each other very much.’

He did not look at her, she noticed. He did not take the opportunity to say he loved her, as she hoped he might. Instead he looked out to sea. ‘Perhaps. It is not my business.’

‘You mean you haven’t seen them together? They’re very affectionate. Very—
close
.’

‘They do their work. That is all I ask.’

‘He is very good-looking, of course.’

He looked at her now, she noted with satisfaction as she sipped on her wine. He had taken no time at all to swing his head around to her. ‘Who is?’

‘Marco, of course. I can see what Natania sees in him.’

He picked up a small pebble from the sand and flung it at the sea where it landed with a plop. ‘You find Marco attractive?’

She shrugged. ‘Maybe I like what he does for Natania. I like the way he is so fascinated in her, so drawn to her. She seems happy enough.’

He didn’t answer, just turned his gaze out to sea again. She propped her glass in the sand, slipped off her cardigan and flicked her hair off her neck. ‘That’s better. It’s warm here. Natania said it was warm enough in the cove to swim naked.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Maybe we should give it a try.’

‘The water will be freezing.’

‘I can think of a way we can warm up afterwards.’ She sat up and popped the first two buttons on her dress. ‘I’m game if you are.’

His arm snaked out, his wrist ensnaring hers like a manacle before she could attempt the third. His eyes were dark and storm-tossed. ‘Don’t do this, Gabriella.’

‘Don’t do what?’

‘What you’re doing.’

But she refused to give in that easily. She knew he wanted her; he just had to see it. ‘I thought you liked to see me naked?’ she said innocently enough, her words couched as an invitation, designed to inflame him.

‘Anyone might see you.’

She shook her head, unwound his fingers from her wrist and took them to her mouth, kissing each one in turn, sucking them, rolling her tongue around each fingertip, a blatant promise. ‘Not here,’ she said, taking his
hand lower, curling his fingers around the third button, popping another so her bodice parted and exposed a wide wedge of her breasts that she held the palm of his hand against. ‘We’re completely and utterly alone. The only one who will see me is you.’

For a moment she had him, his dark eyes molten, his fingers moving over her skin, exploring, brushing a nipple so that she mewed with pleasure, arching her back to press further into his hand.

‘Raoul,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me.’

He spun away so suddenly she was left reeling with his absence. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his chest rising and falling like a bellow. ‘Take your time. I will send Marco later on to fetch the basket.’

And then he was gone. When she recovered enough to look around, she saw his long legs eating up the stone steps three at a time until he reached the top. She watched him stride towards the castle, and she collapsed on the sand, lacking even the energy to rebutton her bodice, feeling as stung and sick as if he’d physically slapped her.

What was happening to her? She was barely married twenty-four hours and her husband was rejecting her, refusing to make love to her when he had already shown how good they could be together.

So what the hell was his problem?

B
Y THE
time she returned to the castle, Raoul was gone. ‘To the village,’ Natania told her, looking sullen again.

‘Did he say when he would be back?’

She shook her head and passed her a cup of hot, sweet tea; Gabriella gave up. Natania could not help. How could anybody help when she did not know what the problem was herself?

So she sat in the library to await his return. Maybe Phillipa had been right, after all. Maybe she had rushed into this marriage without talking through the details of each other’s expectations. Maybe she should have waited. But it was not too late; they had only been married one day. She flatly refused to believe it was too late. He loved her, she was sure. Otherwise why would he have married her?

So she would wait, and when he returned they would talk.

She busied herself with studying the books in his collection, trying desperately to be interested and get absorbed when she found a rare or first edition, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her ears were permanently pricked, waiting for any sound that might signal Raoul’s return.

Natania eventually came and brought her a bowl of chunky soup filled with vegetables, crusty bread and local butter; it smelled wonderful but Gabriella could not stomach it and sent it back barely touched.

And, as day slipped into evening, Gabriella knew he intended not to return while she was awake, so she pressed Natania to take her to Raoul’s room. ‘Are you sure?’ the woman asked.

‘I have to,’ she said. Natania nodded and showed her to his room, not on the first floor as she had expected, but a modest room tucked away behind the kitchen, barely better than servants’ quarters.

‘He sleeps here?’

Natania nodded. ‘Ever since we have worked for him. He will not sleep on the floor above.’ She fetched Gabriella a robe and laid it on the bed. ‘I am sorry. Even I did not think he could be this cruel or I would have not have let you marry him.’

‘I love him,’ she said, feeling weak, stupid and totally shell-shocked. ‘Nothing could have stopped me marrying him.’

The gypsy woman nodded, her eyes sad. ‘I know.’

He watched her sleep, her chestnut hair splayed across his pillow. He physically ached to join her, but he knew he could not. Not if he was ever to let her go.

And he must let her go. She was too precious, too beautiful. She deserved far more than he could ever give her. She deserved better. She deserved a man who might save her if she ever fell …

And yet here she was in his bed, curled up like a kitten,
and here he was, rock hard with wanting her. He could take her right now. He could climb into bed, kiss her into wakefulness, caress her sweet curves and bury himself deep in her sweet depths.

He ground his teeth in frustration and growled low in his throat, forcing his feet to stay right where they were.

Why didn’t she give up? How many times did he have to reject her before she hated him enough to leave him alone?

He had never taken her for such a fighter.

And he had never taken himself for such a fool. He knew he was capable of being a fool; God, he’d more than proved that eleven years ago, marrying a woman at the end of her career who had wanted the safety blanket of a marriage, while refusing to be satisfied with being out of the limelight, still lusting after the adoration of everyone. The adoration of just one man had not been enough.

He thought he’d learned his lesson then.

But no. He had been a fool to agree to this. He had known it would come unstuck. He had known it could not work. There were other ways to get revenge against a family he hated with his soul without holding someone so precious and innocent hostage in the process.

It was so wrong to hold her hostage.

But he could not afford let her go yet. If he did, she would flee straight into the arms of Garbas and this would all have been for nothing; Umberto’s plans would backfire in spectacular fashion. He had not come this far to let a Garbas win now. So he needed to keep her here just a little while longer, just until Garbas was put away
for good, and then he would let her go. There had to be someone decent out there for her—someone worthy of her love.

And in the meantime there would be no more picnics on the beach. No more occasions where they could be alone together, even if it meant no more smiles, no more laughter to add to his bank of memories. And, given what he was doing, the last thing he deserved were smiles and laughter.

‘I’m sorry, Bella,’ he whispered, aching for her, aching for what he had lost before he had ever known the full extent of her love. ‘So very sorry.’ And he left her sleeping and walked away.

‘We need to talk.’ It was after lunch and he’d been avoiding her all day, taking his meals alone and forcing her to do likewise, but finally she had managed to track him down to the library.

‘Bella,’ he said, rising to his feet to greet her with a kiss to her cheeks. ‘How lovely to see you. Did you sleep well?’

‘Forget it, Raoul. I’m not in the mood.’ She didn’t want empty platitudes. All morning a storm had been building outside, thick, dark clouds building on the horizon, sweeping in from the sea until they formed a heavy dark bank. All morning a storm had been building inside her, dark and brooding and increasing in intensity. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘You know it is. I want to know what’s going on.’ ‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.’ ‘I don’t think so. I think I’m the one at a disadvantage.
I gave up on waiting for you to come to my bed, given that was apparently too onerous a task the night we were married, so I slept in your bed last night, hoping you would join me some time through the night.’

‘Bella, I am so sorry. I was held up …’

‘Doing what? I want to make love with my husband. What is wrong with that?’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘I do! I just don’t understand what you’re saying or why you’re saying it. I’m your wife, Raoul, and I am going mad here wondering what is wrong with me that you are so interested in doing something else—anything else! But there is nothing wrong with me, so it must be with you. You hide yourself away from me every night; I won’t let you do that again. Because I love you, and I want to make love to you. I want you in my bed. I want to be in yours. Why won’t you make love to me, now that we are married, when you found no such barrier before? Or is there something painfully wrong with me you haven’t told me about?’