Claimed by the Sicilian: Sicilian Husband, Blackmailed Bride / The Sicilian's Red-Hot Revenge / The Sicilian's Wife. Kate WalkerЧитать онлайн книгу.
hesitation. At least she thought she could, so it was doubly disconcerting to feel those already twisted nerves tighten even more painfully as she spoke.
‘Something like that. It does not matter how we word it. Anything, so long as we go out of this church together to face that rat pack out there and give them a story with a positive spin on it that they can print in tomorrow’s editions.’
‘And you really believe they’ll run with it?’
She had to admit that she was tempted. For all sorts of reasons.
When her world had come crashing down with Guido’s explosive arrival at the aborted wedding ceremony—was it really barely half an hour ago?—she hadn’t been able to think beyond the immediate moment. All she had wanted then was to be left alone and to find a hole—the tinier the better—into which she could crawl to hide herself. Somewhere that she could lick her wounds, wait for the world to stop spinning in the sickening way it had been doing ever since that horrific interruption, and pray that one day things would quieten down so that she could dare to venture out again.
But that wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t anywhere she could go; no one she could turn to.
Except Guido.
She had burned her boats with Rafe, that much was obvious. The sheer hatred in his eyes when he had turned to her, the venom with which he had spat the brutal insult at her, had made that only too plain. And who could blame him?
With Rafe had gone all his family, of course. The St Clairs were never likely to forgive the insult to their family honour that they believed she had inflicted today. What were they to expect from the Wellesley family? they would be saying. Like mother like daughter, after all. They’d always known it.
Her mother, too, would never forgive her for the public humiliation. That would be just one more thing to add to the long list of faults for which she could never atone, this one being the last and the worst in Pamela’s eyes. It would leave a stain that could never be erased. So there was no hope of help there, or comfort, or support.
There was no one in the world she could turn to.
Except Guido.
For the first time in the long-drawn-out minutes since she had taken refuge in the narrow wooden pew, Amber made herself look straight at Guido. She saw the way that the long, powerful body was leaning back against the heavy oak church door, behind which she could still vaguely hear the murmur of voices from the crowd. Every now and then someone would rap hard on that door, destroying her hope that the reporters and photographers might have given up in boredom and gone home.
Even as the thought entered her mind, another of those loud, aggressive knocks came from outside, making her flinch inside at the sound. And this time it was accompanied by an even louder voice calling her name, and asking for, ‘Just a word, Miss Wellesley—a few questions! You have to come out of there some time!’
Fearfully Amber let her eyes fly to Guido’s face, seeing there nothing of her own nervous apprehension. Instead, he seemed totally relaxed, his proud head flung back so that it rested on the edge of the door, muscular arms folded over the width of his chest. Long legs crossed at the ankles were stretched taut, pulling the fine material of his trousers tight against narrow hips and muscular thighs in a way that made her mouth dry in basic, sensual response.
His face too was totally calm, the strong jaw relaxed, the dark eyes only slightly hooded as he met her assessing stare with cool composure. He was between her and the ‘enemy’ outside—and so he seemed like a protector—but were appearances deceiving her? Was Guido the only real enemy?
She couldn’t begin to guess at the answer, only knowing that right now, in the situation in which she found herself, he seemed like her only possible hope.
‘Put it this way,’ Guido said at last. ‘I think that this is the only way for you to walk out of here on any sort of a positive note. You can leave this church with me—as my wife—or you can take your chance with the vultures outside.’
‘I think that’s what they call being caught between a rock and a hard place.’
Amber tried for an airy laugh and failed miserably, succeeding only in sounding cold and cynical even to her own ears. And it earned her another of those dark, glowering frowns, anger flashing in the deep-set eyes.
‘Then I am to take it that that is a no?’ he questioned harshly, levering himself away from the door so that he stood upright.
Amber knew it was impossible that he could have grown even half an inch taller in the time that he had been leaning back like that, but even so she had the irrational feeling that he had done just that. Grown bigger and stronger, his shoulders broadening, his head held higher so that he was even more imposing than he had ever been before.
The thought took all the strength from her legs so that she sank back onto the worn wooden seat of the pew, her hand twisting in the fine white silk of her dress. Her wedding dress. For a moment there she had almost forgotten.
‘Well?’ Guido prompted curtly when the thought dried her mouth too so that she couldn’t find any sort of an answer to give him.
‘I…’
Twice Amber opened her mouth to respond and both times her voice failed her completely, fading to a weak croak after the single word. How could she answer? What could she possibly say? It seemed that no matter which way she turned, something terrible and unbearable waited for her. So how did she choose the lesser of all those evils?
‘Così sia!’
Guido flung out his hands in a very Italian gesture, dismissing the whole topic and seeming to fling it from him.
‘If that’s the way you want it, then so be it! You can handle this alone.’
He had turned and headed back to the church door before she quite realised what he was doing. That he was leaving—that he had every intention of just walking out and leaving her here. Alone. And of course when he opened the door then the reporters and cameramen would just pour in…
Panic pushed her to her feet again, holding fast to the end of the pew as she took a couple of frantic steps into the aisle.
‘Wait!’
He actually had his fingers on the big metal door handle, was about to turn it…For the space of half a dozen uneven, fearful heartbeats, she thought that he hadn’t heard or, if he had, then he was determined to ignore her desperate cry. But then, very slowly, Guido stopped. His hand stilled on the big metal ring, then loosened, dropping down to his side again. He spared her just the smallest flick of a glance over his shoulder in her direction. That was all.
‘Wait?’ he said at last. ‘For what?’
‘For—for my answer.’ Amber stumbled over the words in her haste to get them out. Seeing him prepared to walk away like that had focused her mind brutally, She had no doubt at all now what she wanted; which way she had to go. There was only one way she could go.
‘And that answer is?’
Still he kept turned away from her and she wished he would turn round. It was so hard to speak to the long, straight back, to see nothing of his face but just the sleek, shining mane of black hair.
‘My answer is—you know what it is—it’s—Oh, please, won’t you just turn round?’
‘As you wish…’
He took his time about it, turning so slowly that she had time to rethink her request not once but twice while he did so. And when he was at last facing her again, those polished bronze eyes fixed on her face, she had to swallow hard to relieve the agonising tension in her throat. Now she wished she’d kept her mouth shut and let him stay where he was. Surely saying what she had to say to the back of his head couldn’t have been as bad, as nerve-racking as doing it now, to his face. Where all his features seemed to be carved from stone, and those eyes were as cold and hard as ice.
He