His Reluctant Bride: The Marchese's Love-Child / The Count's Blackmail Bargain / In the Millionaire's Possession. Sara Craven
bargain they had made with each other.
As if Sandro had read her thoughts, he said quietly, ‘You will soon accustom yourself to wearing it.’
She bent her head. ‘Along with everything else, it seems.’
‘There will be compensations,’ he told her. ‘Tomorrow I shall open a bank account for you.’
She shook her head almost violently. ‘I don’t want that.’
‘Dio mio.’ His voice was weary. ‘Paola, do you have to fight me each step of the way? Do you wish our child to be brought up in a battlefield?’
She looked away. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Then please try and accept the arrangements that must be made.’
‘I can—try,’ she said unsteadily. ‘But it’s not easy when your whole world has suddenly been—turned upside down.’
‘You think you are alone in that?’ There was a note of harsh derision in his voice. ‘I too am obliged to make—adjustments.’
‘But you don’t have to.’ She faced him with new determination, hands clenched at her sides. ‘I—I understand that you need to see Charlie, to spend time with him, and I swear I’ll co-operate in any way over this. But why tie yourself to an unwanted marriage when you could meet someone to love—someone who knows how to be a marchesa?’ She paused. ‘Someone the contessa might even approve of.’
‘You think that is an essential quality in my bride?’ His mouth twisted.
‘I think that, otherwise, there’ll be problems,’ Polly said flatly. ‘You must see that. After all, she runs your home—and she’ll see me as an interloper. A poor substitute for the girl she loved.’
‘Then she too will have to adjust.’ His voice hardened. ‘Believe this, Paola. My son will grow up in my home with the knowledge that his mother is my wife. Nothing else will do—either for him, or for the world at large.’
He walked to the door, and held it open. ‘Now begin to play your part. My friends expect to meet a girl happily reunited with her lover—so pretend,’ he added flatly. ‘Avanti.’
The serial killer was on the move, and the heroine was alone in her apartment, with a thunderstorm growling overhead. Any minute now she was going to run herself a bath or take a shower, Polly thought wearily, because that was what always happened.
I need, she thought, blanking out the television screen with one terse click of the remote control, to be distracted, not irritated.
She also wanted to relax—but her inner tensions were not so easily dispelled.
Besides, she could do without artificial horrors. Her mind was full enough already of disturbing sounds and images—bleached rock in the blazing sun, the squeal of tyres, the screech of brakes and wrenched metal. A girl screaming in fright, and then an even more terrifying silence, with Sandro lying unconscious and bleeding under a pitiless sky.
Perhaps this was why she was still up and restless, when common sense suggested she should be in bed, with Charlie fast asleep in his cot near by. She’d wondered if he would react badly to his new surroundings, but he’d settled with little more than a token protest.
Perhaps I should be more like him, Polly thought with a grimace. Learn to deal with six impossible things before breakfast.
However, liking Teresa and Ernesto had not proved impossible at all. She was tall, and slim as a wand, with long dark hair and laughing eyes. And although she was the epitome of chic, that did not stop her indulging in a rough-and-tumble on the floor with Charlie and the twins.
Ernesto was quieter, with a plain, kind face, observing his wife and children with doting fondness through his silver-rimmed glasses.
In other circumstances, Polly would have loved to have them as friends. As it was, she felt a total fraud. And sitting next to Sandro on one of the deeply cushioned sofas in their drawing room, with his arm draped casually round her shoulders, had proved unnervingly difficult.
Blissfully married herself, Teresa, left alone with Polly, had made it clear that she thought Sandro was glamorous and sexy beyond belief, in spite of his scarred face, and that she was assisting at the romance of the century.
And even if I told her that marrying Sandro was simply a rubber stamp on a legal arrangement I want no part of, Polly thought sadly, she wouldn’t believe me.
‘Ah, but shopping will be such fun, cara,’ Teresa had told her buoyantly. ‘Particularly as Alessandro has put no limit on our spending,’ she added with glee.
And although she must have been brimming with curiosity about Sandro and Polly’s former relationship, she nobly refrained from asking questions that her guest might find difficult to answer.
There had been only one awkward moment, when Teresa had been admiring Polly’s engagement ring. ‘A diamond?’ she exclaimed. ‘But I thought …’ She encountered a swift glance from Ernesto, and hastily went on, ‘I thought, as your bride has green eyes, you would have chosen an emerald for her. Or do you believe they are unlucky? Some people do, I think. And a diamond is forever, no?’
Sandro had smiled lazily. ‘Forever,’ he agreed.
But Polly found herself wondering what Teresa had meant to say.
‘So, was that such a hardship?’ he’d asked as their chauffeur-driven car took them back to the hotel, with Charlie bouncing between them.
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘They were lovely. I hate making fools of them like this.’
He gave her a dry look. ‘Do not underestimate Teresa, cara. She is a shrewd lady.’
Is she? Polly thought. Yet she clearly thinks Sandro and I will be having an intimate dinner for two in our suite, followed by a rapturous night in each other’s arms. How wrong can anyone be?
‘Then I’ll take care to be extra-careful,’ she said. She paused. ‘Why did she query my engagement ring being a diamond?’
‘You noticed,’ Sandro gave a shrug. ‘She would expect you to wear the Valessi ruby, which is traditionally passed to each bride.’
‘But not to me.’
‘No,’ he said, his mouth hardening. ‘It was found in the wreckage of the car. My father had it buried with Bianca.’
‘I see.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, that’s—understandable.’ She paused, desperate for a change of subject. ‘I—I wonder if the box containing my life has been delivered yet?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘That has made you angry,’ he said. ‘Which was not my intention. I thought I had simply relieved you of a tedious job.’
‘It would have been,’ she admitted. She forced a smile. ‘I’m just accustomed to my independence.’
‘Then it may please you to know that you will not be burdened with my presence at dinner tonight,’ he told her drily. ‘I am going out. Would you prefer to dine in the suite, or go down to the restaurant?’
‘I’ll stay in the suite. It will be better for Charlie.’
‘As you wish. I will arrange for Room Service to bring you a menu.’
Polly wondered where he was planning to spend the evening, but knew she could never ask. Because she did not have the right. This was the life she had agreed to for Charlie’s sake. A life of silences. No questions asked, or information volunteered. A life where to be blind and deaf might be a positive advantage.
‘I shall come to say goodnight to Carlino before I leave,’ he added. ‘If you permit, of course.’
‘I can hardly prevent you.’
‘You have a key to your room,’ he reminded her. ‘There