The Marchese's Love-Child (14 page)

'Oh.' Polly found herself blinking. 'Well—thank you.'

'Is that all? I am disappointed.' The topaz eyes glinted at her. 'I was hoping for a more—tangible expression of gratitude.'

Polly stiffened. 'I don't think I understand.'

'And I think you do.' He smiled at her, and held out a hand in invitation. 'Is one kiss too much to ask?'

She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but there was too much riding on this transaction.

She said coldly, 'You're not as generous as I thought.'

'And nor are you, carissima? he said gently. 'Which is why I have so far asked for so little. Besides, you will have to kiss me tomorrow at the wedding. It is tradition.' His smile widened. 'And you certainly need the practice.'

There was a taut silence, then Polly trod awkwardly to the side of the bed. Ignoring his proffered hand, she bent to brush his cheek with swift, unyielding lips.

But before she could straighten, Sandra had grasped her wrists in an unbreakable hold, and she was being drawn inexorably downwards, losing her balance in the process. She found she was being turned skilfully, so that she was lying across his body, the outrage in her eyes meeting the mockery in his. Mockery mingled with something altogether more disturbing. Something that, in spite of herself, every pulse in her body leapt to meet.

He said softly, 'But I will not settle for as little as that, Paola mia.'

And her instinctive cry of protest was stifled by the warmth of his mouth on hers.

He kissed her deeply and thoroughly, holding her imprisoned in one arm, while his other hand twined in her hair to hold her still, defeating any attempt she might make to struggle. Forcing her to endure the sensuous and unashamedly possessive invasion of his tongue, as his mouth moved on hers in sheer and unashamed enticement.

Robbing her, she realised numbly, of any real desire to fight him. Awakening very different memories—and longings.

The heat of the sun pouring through the window—the unforgettable scent of his naked skin—the pressure of his lithe, muscular body against hers sent the last three years rolling back, and they were lovers again, their bodies aching and melting to be joined together in the ultimate intimacy, yet deliberately holding back to prolong the sweetness of the final moments.

He had always wooed her with kisses, she remembered dazedly, arousing her with a patient, passionate tenderness that splintered her control, and sent her reason spinning, so that she clung to him mutely imploring his possession.

Why else had she been unable to see that bringing her to eager, quivering acquiescence was the work of a practised seducer?

Yet even now, it seemed, she was unable to resist him, or the sensual magic of his lips.

When he lifted his head she was breathless, her heart thudding unevenly against her ribcage—which he must have known, because his hand had moved and was gently cupping her breast, his thumb stroking her hardening nipple to a rapturous peak through the silk of her dress.

He looked down at her, his eyes glittering and intent, asking a question which she was too scared and confused to answer. She only knew that if he kissed her again, she would be lost. And as he bent to her once more, a soft moan, half-fear, half-yearning, parted her lips.

And then, swiftly and shockingly, it was over, as the telephone beside the bed suddenly rang, its stridency shattering the heated intensity within the room like a fist through a pane of glass.

Sandro swore softly and fluently, but his hold on her relaxed, and she forced herself out of his embrace and off the bed, and ran to the door.

She flew across the intervening space, snatching at the door handle to her own bedroom, but as she did so it opened anyway, and she half fell into the room beyond.

As she struggled to recover her balance, there was a cry of 'Mammina' and Charlie, looking angelic, came scampering towards her from the bathroom, with Julie close behind.

'He had a little accident with his cereal this morning,' she told Polly, trying to look severe. 'I've just had to change his top and trousers. You wouldn't believe how far he can spread one small bowl.'

As Polly bent to him, fighting for calm, the door opposite was flung wide, and Sandro came striding towards them, his face like thunder, tying the belt of a robe he'd clearly thrown on as an afterthought.

Polly scooped Charlie up in her arms, and turned to face him defensively.

He halted, staring at her, his ominous frown deepening. He said in Italian, 'We need to talk, you and I. Now.'

"There's nothing to talk about,' Polly said, nervously aware that Julie had vanished with discreet haste back into the bathroom. She reverted to her own language. 'I should have known I couldn't trust you.'

His mouth twisted contemptuously. 'No,' he said. 'I think, my beautiful hypocrite, that you realised you could not trust yourself. It is that simple. So why, for once in your life, can't you be honest?'

He took a step towards her, and she recoiled, still clutching Charlie, who was beginning to wriggle. She said hoarsely, 'Don't touch me. Don't dare to come near me. You—you promised to leave me alone.'

"That will be my pleasure,' Sandro hit back. 'Now, be silent. You are frightening our son.' Charlie was squirming round, his lip trembling, holding out his arms to his father, and Sandro took him from her, soothing the little boy quietly.

He said, 'He will spend the day with me. I will telephone to say when he may be collected.' He carried him back to his own room, where he turned and looked back at Polly, his eyes icy with warning.

He said too softly, 'And, as long as you live, signorina, never— never again use our child as a barrier between us.'

The door closed behind them both, leaving Polly shaking and alone in the middle of the room.

'Are you all right, Miss Fairfax?' Julie was regarding her anxiously from the doorway.

Polly mustered her reserves. 'Yes,' she lied. 'Fine. A—a misunderstanding, that's all.'

'I thought at first that the marchese had come to give you the good news,' Julie said. 'He spoke to me as I was going off duty yesterday evening, and suggested that I should go to Italy as well, to help Charlie to settle in. Isn't that great? I was going to tell you myself, first thing, only his lordship there did his trick with the cereal.'

Polly's hands slowly curled into fists. He knew, she thought, fury uncurling inside her. He knew exactly what I was going to ask, and used it against me. A ploy to get me into bed with him. And—dear God—I was almost fool enough to fall for it. To give in.

'Miss Fairfax?' Julie was looking puzzled. 'I thought you'd be pleased.'

'Yes,' Polly said, summoning a hurried smile. 'I'm delighted. That's—absolutely wonderful. Just what we both wanted.'

She paused. 'And Charlie's spending the day with his father, so you have some free time to go and pack for the Campania. Mind you take a couple of bikinis too,' she added over-brightly. 'Apparently the palazzo has a pool.'

Julie's face lit up. 'Well—if you don't mind...'

When the other girl had gone, Polly walked over to one of the sofas and sat for a long time, with her face buried in her hands.

She was angry, but her anger was mixed with guilt too. It was wrong of her to use Charlie like that, but the truth was she hadn't dared allow Sandro to touch her again. Or come within a yard of her, for that matter.

As it was, she felt sick with shame at how easily he'd drawn a response from her. And how her unfulfilled body now felt torn apart by frustration. Like the first time he had made love to her, she thought wretchedly, when she'd been wild for him, his caresses exciting her to the point of desperation. When, at last, he'd entered her, her body had been molten with need, and there'd been no pain.

Just a rapturous sense of total completion, she thought wretchedly. And what she'd believed was utter love.

I know better now, she told herself, her mind raw. I know he was just using me for sex—nothing more, but that's something I'll learn to live with.

But I can't let it happen ever again—and I won't.

She hadn't taken his money, she thought harshly. Nor would she accept the false coin of his lovemaking, no matter what the cost to her as a woman. And no matter how she might ache for him, as she did now.

The next day, she married Sandro in a ceremony so brief she could hardly believe it was legal. As they were pronounced man and wife, and he turned to her, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the promised kiss, only to feel his lips brush her cheek swiftly and coldly.

As she stepped back she glimpsed Teresa and Ernesto exchanging astonished glances, and moved to them to be hugged with real warmth. Teresa drew her to one side. 'A little gift, cam,' she whispered, handing her a flat parcel, wrapped in silver tissue with violet ribbons. 'Do not open it now. Wait until tonight.'

Polly forced a smile of thanks, and put the package in the soft leather shoulder bag which served as her hand luggage.

There were no problems on the flight itself. Polly had never travelled first class before, and sitting in comfort, being served champagne, at least gave a veneer of celebration to the day's proceedings.

Charlie chatted in wonder about 'big planes', gave an imitation of a jumbo jet taking off, then fell asleep, but he awoke grouchily when they reached Naples, and the subsequent journey soon disintegrated into nightmare.

Polly discovered, dismayed, that her son did not enjoy travelling by car, even an air-conditioned limousine, and that he was constantly and miserably sick throughout the trip.

Every few miles they were forced to stop, so that Charlie could be cleaned up and comforted, and eventually Julie, who'd borne the brunt of the little boy's misery, was sent to sit in the passenger seat beside the chauffeur, and Sandro took her place, cradling Charlie on his lap and talking to him gently.

'Why not give him back to me?' Polly suggested, aware that her linen dress was already ruined. 'I'm worried that he'll spoil your beautiful suit,' she added awkwardly.

He gave her a look of faint impatience. 'Che importa?' he demanded, and Polly subsided, biting her lip and turning to look out of the window.

Up till now, she'd been totally unaware of the scenery she was passing through, all her attention given to Charlie's woes. But now she had a breathing space to take in the reality of her surroundings. The road they were travelling had been carved out of the rock-face which towered above them. On the other side was the eternal blue of the Mediterranean, serene today, reflecting the cloudless sky. And straight ahead, nestling in the curve of the bay, a cluster of terracotta roofs round a boat-studded marina.

Beyond it, a rocky promontory jutted into the sea, dominated by a large rectangular building with faded pink walls, made even more imposing by the tower at each of its corners.

She did not need Sandro's quiet 'Comadora at last' to recognise that this place, more a fortress than a palace, was to be her home, and Charlie's inheritance.

She said, 'It—it looks a little daunting.'

'That would have been the intention, when it was built,' he agreed dryly. "This coast was often attacked by pirates.'

'Yes,' she said, her tone subdued. "That was part of the local history I had to learn when I was here—before.' She hesitated. 'I suppose I must learn not to mention that.'

'Perche?' His brows lifted. 'Why should you think so?'

She said stiffly, 'I didn't think you'd want your family to know that your wife used to be a travel rep.'

'Why, Paola,' he said softly, 'what a snob you are.'

Polly bit her lip. 'How did you explain why I was back in your life? It might be better if I knew.'

He shrugged. 'After the crash, I suffered memory problems for a while, something they all know. Once I recovered fully, you had disappeared, and it took time for me to find you.' He looked at

her over Charlie's sleeping head, his smile mocking. 'And now we are together again—united in bliss forever.'

Polly drew a breath. 'Your restored memory seems to have been pretty selective.'

'You have a better version?'

'No,' she admitted unwillingly. 'But no one's ever going to believe that we're—blissfully happy.'

'Then pretend, cara mia.' There was a sudden hard note in his voice. 'Pretend like you did three summers ago, when you let me believe you found pleasure in bed with me.'

'Sandro—please...' She felt her face warm, and turned away hurriedly, her body clenching in swift, intimate yearning.

That jibe of hers, uttered purely in self-defence that first night at the flat, seemed to have hit a nerve, she thought unhappily. But it didn't mean anything. After all, no man liked to have his expertise as a lover challenged.

'Do I embarrass you?' he asked coldly. 'My regrets.'

There was a silence, then he said, 'Will you tell me something, Paola? When you went back to England, did you already know that you were carrying my child?'

'No,' she said. 'No, I didn't.'

'Ah,' Sandro said quietly.

The car turned in between tall wrought-iron gates, and negotiated the long winding drive which ended in a paved courtyard before the main entrance to the palazzo.

It was bright with flowers in long stone troughs, and in the middle was a fountain sending a slender, glittering spire of water into the air.

Thank God, Polly thought as the car drew up. Peace at last. She stretched, moving her aching shoulders, longing for a bath and a change of clothing, hopefully with a cold drink included somewhere too.

The car bringing their luggage would have arrived ages ago, she thought.

It seemed that if she was going to be unhappy, at least it would be in comfort. But for now, that thought brought no solace at all.

The massive arched double doors opened, and a man, short and balding, dressed in an immaculate grey linen jacket came hurrying across the courtyard to meet them, looking anxious.

He looks like the bearer of bad news, thought Polly. Perhaps there's been another accident and our luggage is all at the bottom of the Mediterranean .

Clearly Sandro was concerned, because he deposited Charlie on her lap and got out.