The Mediterranean Rebel's Bride. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
I never thought. He might have forgotten her—no, men never forgot Freda.
For a moment she was back by the track, watching him approach, his face unknowable behind the black visor. What had he seen? What had it done to him to bring him so close to death?
It had felt strange to hold him in her arms, the powerful, athletic body slumping helplessly against her. Vulnerability was the last thing she had expected from Freda’s description.
‘He had enough cocky arrogance to take on the world,’ her cousin had said. ‘It made me think, That’s for me.’
‘But not for long,’ Polly had reminded her quietly. ‘Two weeks, and then you dumped him.’
Freda had given an expressive shrug. ‘Well, he’d have dumped me pretty soon, I dare say. I knew straight off that he was the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind. That was useful, because it meant he wouldn’t give me any trouble afterwards.’
‘Plus the fact that you hadn’t given him your real name.’
‘Sure. I thought Sapphire was rather good—don’t you?’
What Polly had thought of her cousin’s actions was something she’d kept to herself—especially then, when Freda had been so frail, her once luxurious hair had fallen out and the future had been so cruelly plain.
That conversation came back to her now, reminding her of Ruggiero as she’d seen him first, and then later. Cocky arrogance, she thought. But not always.
He’d said Sapphire’s name and reached blindly out to her before he’d controlled himself and pulled back. For him, Sapphire still lived—and that was the one thing Polly had not expected.
A chauffeur-driven car arrived exactly at seven o’clock and swept her out of the city and up the winding road to where the Villa Rinucci sat atop the hill. From a distance she could see the lights blazing, and hear the sounds of a party floating down in the clear air.
Hope came out to greet her eagerly.
‘I feel better now you’re here,’ she said. ‘Our family doctor is also a guest, but he’ll have to leave soon.’
‘I’d better talk to him first,’ Polly suggested, and was rewarded with Hope’s brilliant smile.
Dr Rossetti was an elderly man who’d been a friend of the family for a long time. He greeted Polly warmly, questioned her about her impressions that afternoon, and nodded.
‘He’s always been an awkward so-and-so. Now, Carlo—his twin—if he didn’t want to do what he was told, he’d get out of it with charm, and it would be ages before you saw how he’d outwitted you. But Ruggiero would just look you in the eye and say, “Shan’t!”’
Polly chuckled. ‘You mean he doesn’t bother with any of that subtlety nonsense?’
‘Ruggiero wouldn’t recognise subtlety if he met it in the street. His head has a granite exterior which you have to thump hard to make him believe what he doesn’t want to believe.’
‘And under the exterior?’
‘I suspect there’s something more interesting. But he keeps it a secret even from his nearest and dearest. In fact, especially from his nearest and dearest. He hates what he calls “prying eyes”, so don’t make it too clear that you’re concerned for him.’
‘No, I think I gathered that before,’ she said wryly. She glimpsed Ruggiero across the room and added, ‘From the way he’s moving his left arm I think his shoulder’s hurting.’
‘Yes—you might find it useful to rub some of this into it,’ he said, handing her a tube of a preparation designed to cool inflammation.
‘And I’m sure he has concussion.’
‘I doubt it’s serious, since he seems well able to remember what happened. But he needs an early night. See if you can get him to take a couple of these.’ He handed her some tablets.
‘They might do his headache some good,’ she said, nodding as she recognised them.
‘Headache?’ the doctor demanded satirically. ‘What headache? You don’t think he admits to having a headache, do you?’
‘Leave him to me,’ she said. ‘I’m used to dealing with difficult patients.’
They nodded in mutual understanding. Then something made Polly look up to find Ruggiero watching her, his lips twisted in a smile so wry that it was almost a sneer. Of course he knew they were discussing him, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
Then Evie was by her side, taking her to meet the family. Carlo and Della, the newlyweds, had left for their honeymoon, but everyone else was there. While Polly was sorting out the clan in her mind, Hope appeared beside her.
‘Let me take you to Ruggiero.’
‘Better not,’ Polly said. ‘If he’s expecting me to descend on him like a nanny, that’s exactly what I’m not going to do.’
Hope nodded. ‘You’re a wise woman. Oh, dear! Why do men never listen to wise women?’
‘I suppose the other kind are more fun,’ Polly said with amusement. ‘Let him wait and wonder. I think I should meet some more people, just to show I’m not watching him.’
Hope took her around the room to meet the older, more distant members of the extended Rinucci clan. They all greeted her warmly, and seemed to know that she was there to look after one of their number. They were kind people, and open in their appreciation.
It didn’t take long for Polly to understand that they were taking their cue from Hope, who was the centre of the whole family, a charming tyrant, exercising her will so lovingly that it was easy to underestimate her power. Toni’s fond eyes followed her everywhere.
After a while Polly became aware of a glass being pressed into her hand. Looking up, she saw Ruggiero, surveying her grimly.
‘It’s only mineral water,’ he said. ‘Since I take it you’re not allowed to drink on duty?’
‘On duty?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me. You’re here to fix your beady eyes on me in case I go into convulsions. Sorry to disoblige, but I’m having a great time.’
‘A man with cracked ribs is never having a great time.’
‘Who says I have cracked ribs?’
‘You do—every time you touch your left side gingerly. I’ve seen that gesture before. Often enough to know what it means.’
‘And you think you’re going to whisk me away to a hospital—?’
‘There’s no need. If you’ll only—’
‘Once and for all,’ he said, with a touch of savagery, ‘there is nothing wrong with me.’
‘For pity’s sake, what are you trying to prove?’
‘That I’m fine—’
‘Which you’re not—’
‘And that I don’t need a nanny,’ he growled.
‘A nanny is just what you do need,’ she said, coming close to losing her temper. ‘In fact I never saw a man who needed it more. No—scrap nanny. Let’s say a twenty-four-hour guard, preferably armed with manacles. Even then you’d manage to do something brainless.’
‘Then I’m beyond help, and you should abandon me to my fate.’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said through gritted teeth.
She waited for a sharp answer, but it didn’t come. Looking at him, she saw why. He sat down, slowly and heavily, leaning his head back against the wall. She just stopped the glass falling from his fingers.
‘Time to stop pretending,’