The Santangeli Marriage. Sara CravenЧитать онлайн книгу.
marriage was permanently over. Soon he’d be free to seek a more willing lady to share the marital bed with him when he felt inclined—probably some doe-eyed Italian beauty with a talent for maternity.
Which would certainly please his old witch of a grandmother, who’d made no secret of her disapproval of his chosen match from the moment Marisa had arrived back in Italy under Julia’s eagle-eyed escort. Harry had not accompanied them, having opted to spend the time quietly at his sister’s home in Kent, but he’d announced his determination to fly out for the wedding in order to give the bride away.
But Renzo’s next wooing would almost certainly be conducted in a very different manner.
She’d wondered sometimes if it had been obvious to everyone that he’d rarely touched her, apart from taking her hand when making introductions. And that he’d never kissed her in any way.
Except once…
It had been during the dinner his father had given at the house in Tuscany for her nineteenth birthday, with a large ebullient crowd of family and friends gathered round the long table in the sumptuous frescoed dining room. She’d been seated next to him in her pale cream dress, with its long sleeves and discreetly square neckline, the epitome of the demure fidanzata, with the lustrous pearls that had been his birthday gift to her clasped round her throat for everyone to see and admire.
‘Pearls for purity,’ had been Julia’s acid comment when she saw them. ‘And costing a fortune too. Clearly he’ll be expecting his money’s worth on his wedding night.’
Was that the message he was intending to convey to the world at large? Marisa had wondered, wincing. She’d been sorely tempted to put the gleaming string back in its velvet box, but eventually she’d steeled herself to wear it, along with the ring he’d given her to mark their engagement—a large and exquisite ruby surrounded by diamonds.
She could not, she’d thought, fault his generosity in material matters. In fact she’d been astonished when she’d discovered the allowance he proposed to make her when they were married, and could not imagine how she’d spend even a quarter of it.
But then, as she had reminded herself, he was buying her goodwill and, as Julia had so crudely indicated, her body.
It was a thought that had still had the ability to dry her mouth in panic, especially with the wedding drawing closer each day.
Because, in spite of his promised forbearance, there would come a night when she would have to undergo the ordeal of submission to him. ‘Payback time’, as Julia had called it, and it scared her.
He scared her…
She had turned her head, studying him covertly from under her lashes. He’d been talking to the people across the table, his hands moving incisively to underline a point, his dark face vivid with laughter, and it had occurred to her, as swiftly and shockingly as a thunderbolt crashing through the ceiling, that if she’d met him that night for the first time she might well have found him deeply and disturbingly attractive.
His lean good looks had been emphasised by the severe formality of dinner jacket and black tie. But then, she’d been forced to admit, he always dressed well, and his clothes were beautiful.
But fast on the heels of that reluctant admission had come another thought that she’d found even more unwelcome.
That, only too soon, she would know what Renzo looked like without any clothes at all.
The breath had caught in her throat, and she’d felt an odd wave of heat sweep up over her body and turn her face to flame.
And as if he’d picked up her sudden confusion on some secret male radar, Renzo had turned and looked at her, his brows lifting in enquiry as he observed her hectically flushed cheeks and startled eyes.
And for one brief moment they had seemed caught together within a cone of silence, totally cut off from the chatter and laughter around them, his gaze meshing with hers, only to sharpen into surprise and—oh, God—amused awareness.
Making her realise with utter mortification that he’d read her thoughts as easily as if she’d had I wonder what he looks like naked? tattooed across her forehead.
He had inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, the golden eyes dancing, his mouth twisting in mocking appreciation, and reached for the hand that wore his ring, raising her fingers for the brush of his lips, then turning them so he could plant a more deliberate kiss in the softness of her palm.
Her colour had deepened helplessly as she’d heard the ripple of delighted approbation from round the table, and she had known his gesture had been noted.
And she had no one to blame for that but herself, she’d thought, her heart hammering within the prim confines of the cream bodice as she had removed her hand from his clasp with whatever dignity she could salvage. She had known, as she did so, that the guests would be approving of that too, respecting what they saw as her modesty and shyness, when in reality she wanted to grab the nearest wine bottle and break it over his head.
When the dinner had finally ended, an eternity later, she’d been thankful that courtesy kept Renzo with the departing guests, enabling her to escape upstairs without speaking to him.
Julia, however, had not been so easily evaded.
‘So,’ she said, following Marisa into her bedroom and draping herself over the arm of the little brocaded sofa by the window. ‘You seem to be warming at last to your future husband.’
Marisa put the pearls carefully in their case. ‘Appearances can be deceptive.’
‘Then you’re a fool,’ her cousin said bluntly. ‘He may be charming, but underneath there’s one tough individual, and you can’t afford to play games with him—blushing and sighing one minute, and becoming an ice maiden the next.’
‘Thank you,’ Marisa returned politely. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
She’d momentarily lost ground tonight, and she knew it, but it was only a temporary aberration. She’d find a way to make up for it—somehow.
And so I did, she thought now, only to find myself reaping a bitter harvest as a consequence.
Her reverie was interrupted by the return of Corin, looking woebegone.
‘She wants her half-share in the gallery,’ he announced without preamble. ‘She says that I’m far too conventional, and she’s planning to take an active part in the place—imposing some ideas of her own to widen the customer base. Which means she’ll be working next to me every day as if nothing’s happened. Well, it’s impossible. I couldn’t bear it.’
He sat down heavily at his desk. ‘Besides, I know her ideas of old, and they just wouldn’t work—not somewhere like this. But I can’t afford to buy her out,’ he added, sighing, ‘so I’ll just have to sell up and start again—perhaps in some country area where property isn’t so expensive.’
Marisa brought him some strong black coffee. She said, ‘Couldn’t you find a white knight—someone who’d invest in the Estrello so you could pay your wife off?’
He pulled a face. ‘If only. But times are bad, and getting harder, and luxury items like these are usually the first to be sacrificed, so I could struggle to find someone willing to take the risk. Anyway, investors generally want more of an instant return than I can offer.’
He savoured a mouthful of his coffee. ‘I may close up early tonight,’ he went on, giving her a hopeful look. ‘Maybe we could have dinner together?’
I’m sorry, Corin, she thought. But I’m not in the mood to provide a shoulder for you to cry on this evening—or whatever else you might have in mind. You’re a nice guy, but it stops at lunch. And it stops now. Because I have issues of my own that I should deal with.
Aloud, she said gently, ‘I’m sorry, but I already have a date.’
She