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Authors: Sara Wood

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BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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‘I could tease you and pretend that I do,' she said after a while. ‘But that would be a lie. I didn't want to dance with him. To be honest, I didn't enjoy myself much,' she added quietly, omitting to explain that the revelation about Rozzano would have ruined even a wonderful evening.
He grimaced. ‘I'd had enough too. Sophia...they were Enrico's friends, not mine. You've met one or two of my friends over lunch and you said you liked them. I think you'll like the rest of them, too. They're not...'
‘Flash?' she provided wryly, and he gave a small laugh and nodded. ‘You don't like his friends.'
‘Not much.'
Relieved at that, she gave him a shrewd glance. ‘You don't like your brother much either, do you?'
‘He is my brother.' Rozzano's expression gave nothing away. ‘I am responsible for him.'
‘You evaded my question. And you're not your brother's keeper. He's an adult. Whatever role you had to play in his life in the past, it's over now.'
‘He is a Barsini,' he said obstinately. ‘Whatever he does reflects on my family.'
‘And family is all,' she said in a small voice, her heart chilling when he made no answer.
Her disapproval made him clam up, his jaws jammed together obstinately. She stared ahead sightlessly, her senses dulled, all the joy gone from her life. Family. Family.
Famidy
! It couldn't be more important than love and honesty and kindness to others. It shouldn't be a barrier to happiness, or to truth.
She must know one way or the other. Either Rozzano loved her—
her
, not her title, her inheritance, her suitability—or he was putting his wretched dynasty before his own feelings.
Numbly she walked up to her suite, her legs barely holding her up.
‘Come in,' she said in a low whisper.
‘You don't look as if you're in the mood,' he said, frowning.
She flung her head up, her eyes anguished. ‘I'm not. There's something I must ask you. Come in.'
The door closed quietly behind him. She swallowed, not knowing what she would do if he admitted the truth. A terrible sickness engulfed her again and she hurried over to pour herself a glass of mineral water, her shoulders heaving convulsively as she struggled to control her misery.
‘Enrico said something to you, didn't he? What was it?' Rozzano asked in a menacing tone.
She'd been right. He feared any contact she might make with his brother. What would Enrico tell her, given half the chance? Swinging around, her cerise cloak billowing out behind her, she met his wary eyes and felt a shaft of fear strike her heart.
‘I hardly spoke to him.' She noticed his exhalation of relief and trembled. ‘But I heard things that made me doubt you, Rozzano.'
‘From whom?' he demanded grimly.
‘It doesn't matter. But I want you to answer me truthfully,' she said, her eyes fixed steadily on his. Her hands plucked nervously at her waistband. ‘No lies, Rozzano. Be honest. Do you really love me?' she cried, her raised chin and determined mouth defying him to deceive her. ‘Would you love me if I gave all my money away and if I was plain Sophia Charlton in a home-made dress and with no D'Antiga blood at all?'
The affection in his face gave her the answer straight away. ‘Is that what's been worrying you, sweetheart? My darling, how can you ask?'
Tenderly he smiled at her, the love in his eyes warming her cold body through and through, bringing life to her icy heart and dulled brain.
‘I really love you,' he said gently. ‘Give your wealth away if you must. This palace, even. I would still want to live with you for the rest of my life.'
It was what she'd wanted to hear. Without hesitation she ran to his arms, sobbing. And he stroked her back gently, his cheek against hers.
‘You must never distrust me, no matter what rumours you hear,' he whispered. ‘Enrico's friends love nothing better than to gossip and to pull people apart. They spread lies for sheer amusement.'
‘I can believe that,' she said earnestly.
‘Have faith in me, Sophia,' he murmured adoringly. ‘I mean to cherish you to the end of my days. But... especially tonight!'
And that still September night there was something very different about their lovemaking. It was slower,
more lingering and languid yet with deeper resonances which reached far into the core of her.
Rozzano loved her with all his heart. She could sleep in peace. There was no doubt in her mind at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
 
D
RESSED in his morning suit and embroidered waistcoat, he waited far above the Grand Canal, his heart pounding unnaturally. He had climbed out onto the
altana,
the small platform on the roof of Ca‘ Barsini. Here, medieval princesses of his family had once fanned out their waistlength hair to bleach it in the sun.
But today he was waiting for his princess bride to appear. He knew he shouldn't be there, that he ought to be welcoming their guests, but he'd felt compelled to make absolutely certain that she hadn't changed her mind.
A terrible fear clutched at his loins. She was late. She must come! Suppose... God! Suppose she'd heard a rumour? Despite all his plans to keep them apart, Enrico might have got to her somehow and poisoned her mind.
More nervous than he'd ever been in the whole of his life, he shaded his eyes against the low autumn sun, willing her to come into view. His hands held the rail in a fierce grip as he stared tensely at the bend of the canal, around which she should have appeared. If she was coming.
He heard something. Hooters. Sirens, a faint cheer... Sharply he drew in his breath and didn't release it until the small convoy of boats came into sight.
‘Thank God!' he whispered, utterly shaken by the relief that washed through his body. Craning his neck forward, he leaned out for a better view.
She sat opposite Alberto in the gondola, the skirts of her dress spread all around her and emphasising her tiny
waist. She wore his wedding present: a priceless baroque pearl hanging from a pearl necklace.
Rozzano's eyes kindled. The neckline above her slender-fitting bodice was deep, displaying her beautiful shoulders and the faint dark line of her cleavage.
Beneath the veil her face was indistinct, but he caught the occasional flash of her teeth as she waved happily to the boatmen who had spotted their favourite sight—a Venetian bride—and had joined in the procession.
He grinned exultantly. She'd be his, in less than an hour! He'd dreamed of this moment; worked and schemed to achieve it. This was his reward.
Closing his eyes in satisfaction, he threw back his head and inhaled the mixture of salt and marsh, roses and diesel that was essentially Venice. Gently he eased out his breath and with it all the tensions of the past few years. At last he had everything he could wish for!
Quite extraordinarily elated, he hurried back to organise the transfer of their guests from the ballroom to the adjoining family church. Then with enormous satisfaction, he ushered his bewildered brother to the front pew, to stand beside him.
‘Why are we in church? What the hell's going on?' complained Enrico.
‘Wait and see,' Rozzano drawled, barely able to contain his excitement.
The music soared. Sophia must be outside, he thought, his hands suddenly clammy. He directed his brother's attention to the two coats of arms beneath the lavish flower display by the altar. As was the custom for a Barsini marriage, the Barsini coat of arms had been positioned next to those of the bride with silk ribbons in the D‘Antiga blue and white twining around the Barsini hues of green and gold.
‘My...God!' The truth was clearly beginning to dawn on Enrico.
‘Remain calm, brother,' Rozzano purred.
‘Sophia? But you—you don't like her!'
‘Is that relevant? This is for the good of the family,' he said sardonically. ‘I need children. Here's the ring. Don't lose it.'
Enrico was speechless. Rozzano smiled in triumph.
There was one more thing that would make the day complete. His eyes gleamed. Arabella. He would see her privately, during the reception.
 
‘No, your sleeves are fine.'
Sophia's bridesmaids—friends she'd known all her life—firmly prevented her from heaving up the pearlencrusted neckline, and pushed it down again so that the little cap sleeves sat off the shoulder.
She stared at the bodice doubtfully. She loved the little daisies formed by the clusters of seed-pearls but felt alarmed by the amount of cleavage she was showing.
‘It's a bit daring—' she began.
‘You look fantastic. Leave well alone!' said Maggie sternly. She began to fuss with Sophia's hair, making sure the pins holding Sophia's smooth Grace Kelly-style chignon were firmly in place.
‘We can't improve you any more, sadly. Turn around and let us do our job!' teased Jenny. ‘It's
molto tardi
! That means late. And we don't have a
disco orario
! A parking ticket to you plebs,' she added with mock scorn.
‘OK, clever. I'd forgotten you majored in Italian and French!' she grumbled, but obeyed.
This was it! Her knees trembled with nerves as they lifted the heavy train, which was deeply scalloped and lavishly embroidered with pearls. The music filled her
head with sound, its sweet notes bringing a lump to her throat.
‘Wagons roll!' Maggie called from some way behind her.
She chuckled and felt her nerves melt away. Her friends had been wonderful. They had kept her secret, despite their excitement at being flown to Paris for dress fittings.
Turning, she smiled with affection at the two girls. They looked lovely. The buttermilk colour of the simple but chic ballgown dresses really flattered their dark colouring.
‘Are you ready, sweetheart? They're playing your music!' her grandfather said fondly.
‘I'm ready,' she replied, husky with emotion.
His valet helped him from the little gilt chair where he had been waiting, smoothed down her grandfather's coat tails and handed him his stick. He leant on Sophia's arm.
Carefully she positioned her bouquet of sweetly perfumed cabbage roses then waited expectantly while the church doors were flung open by two of Rozzano's grinning house staff.
Faces turned, mouths opened. Sophia fought back a grin at everyone's astonishment as heads swivelled back to where Rozzano stood, tall and erect, at the far end of the church. Judging by the buzz of chatter, only the few they'd sworn to secrecy had known the true purpose of the celebratory party!
Slowly she and her grandfather progressed down the aisle. She felt overjoyed that he'd been well enough to give her away. In fact, his health had improved enormously. Somehow her pending marriage to Rozzano had given him a new lease of life.
Shyly she met the eyes of the man she loved above all
others. From then until the moment he placed the ring on her finger at the end of the simple ceremony, they hardly looked away from one another.
Throughout the ceremony, her senses were so highly tuned that she was acutely aware of everything around her—the dignity of her proud grandfather, the hush when a choirboy sang ‘Pié Jésu' with agonising sweetness, the catch in Rozzano's voice when he spoke his vows.
She couldn't join in with the hymns because her heart was too full. Instead, she stood quietly, awed by the unexpectedness of love that had brought her here.
And she felt so serene that she even smiled understandingly when Enrico failed to hand over the ring. Rozzano muttered something under his breath and his brother responded.
Blissfully Sophia raised her face to her lover as he lifted her veil and kissed her tenderly, his mouth lingering softly on hers while his eyes promised her the world.
Man and wife, she thought dreamily. Man and wife.
When they paused in the courtyard for photographs, they were both swamped by people hugging and kissing them. Everyone seemed warm and friendly—and genuinely delighted by the surprise wedding. Sophia felt a vast sense of relief that Rozzano's friends were very different from Enrico's.
‘Well, you
are
a dark horse,' Letizia murmured nastily in Sophia's ear. ‘You didn't take any notice of what I said, did you? Enjoy it while you can. He'll stray. It's bred in the blood. Just watch out for Arabella. That's my wedding gift to you.'
‘I'm sorry you're so unhappy,' Sophia began gently.
‘Me? I live in a palace, I can spend what I want—are you mad?'
Sophia bit her lip, sad to see such misery on her wedding day.
‘The boats are ready, darling! Let me lift you in!' cried Rozzano, appearing at her side.
Laughing and protesting at the extra weight of her sumptuous dress, she challenged him to do so. Carefully he set her on the cushions of his palatial launch and soon they were moving off at the head of a slow convoy. Police boats, acting as outriders, activated their blue flashing lights and yelled through megaphones to warn the frantic paparazzi to keep clear.
The exuberant Mario had embraced them both tearfully before taking the wheel. Suddenly he burst into spontaneous song, his glorious tenor voice echoing from the high walls of the palaces. Soon the refrain had spread through the convoy till almost everyone was singing with him.
Sophia hugged herself in delight. Looking back, she saw that they'd picked up a whole fleet of barges and motorboats, some
sandoli, vaporetti,
gondolas, and...
‘Look, Rozzano! A refuse boat! Can't see any vests or tattoos, though,' she said.
He rolled his eyes. ‘One of these days I fear I'll lose you to some dustman,' he complained.
‘Never. You're not getting rid of me that easily.'
He kissed her to a chorus of cheers. ‘Good,' he murmured. And kissed her again.
‘I've never been happier,' she said with a contented sigh.
‘Wait till our first child is born!' he teased.
A flicker of nerves subdued her for a moment and she gazed at him warily. ‘What if I can't have children, Rozzano?' she asked anxiously.
‘Don't even think of it,' he murmured, devouring her mouth with a deep, intimate kiss.
But she did. He wanted an heir very badly. If she couldn't provide one...
The nagging worry wouldn't go away. It stayed with her, spoiling the wonderful reception. Sipping a Bellini and nibbling the occasional bite-sized savoury cicchetti, she happily accepted the kisses and congratulations from her friends and his. She even enjoyed the faces of the children when the stilt-walkers and fire-eaters appeared. But the fear remained like a spectre at a feast.
‘Hello, Frank! And Mrs Luscombe... Thank you for coming!' she cried, pleased to see the man who'd first brought the two of them together.
‘So glad,' Frank said warmly. ‘I thought there was something between you two, right from the start!'
Sophia went pink and the Luscombes laughed.
‘We had an amazing trip over,' Frank's wife marvelled. ‘Two coachloads of us. We stayed in a swanky hotel in London and were swept in a fleet of motorboats to stay at the Danieli! It's like a dream. What it must be like for you, I don't know! But you have a gem there, Sophia. Look—he's got the woman from our post office eating out of his hands! And you should have seen the way he listened solemnly to some maid telling him—so Jenny said, because we didn't understand a word of course—how to stay happily married!'
Sophia giggled. ‘That'll be Flavia! All his staff have been with his family for generations. They believe they have a vested interest in keeping him on the straight and narrow!'
‘Well, I don't think you'll have any trouble there,' Frank said. ‘And I've had years of assessing people's characters. There! He's heading for those children. See
the look on his face? You can see how soft he is inside, despite that air of authority.'
‘Yes,' she said tenderly. ‘I can.'
From the way his friends' children flung themselves at him with shrieks of delight, he was evidently a favourite. From her own experience she could see how natural he was with them and there was no doubt that he genuinely adored children.
It would be a double tragedy for him if they didn't have any. No immediate heir to the Barsini-D‘Antiga estates, no child of their own to love. Her eyes darkened. It would put an intolerable strain on their marriage.
‘Look at him! Typical. He has all the fun, none of the responsibility,' came Letizia's sour voice from behind her. ‘You'll be the one to get fat and ugly every time you produce one of his brats.
He'll
still look the same—handsome and charming. Woman bait.'
Sophia ignored Letizia's bitter words, watching as he extricated himself from the laughing children, made some kind of promise, and swept a hand over his tousled hair. His face was relaxed and glowing with happiness. Accepting a glass of Krug from one of his servants, he searched the room for her.
She was about to raise an arm to catch his attention when he apparently saw the person he'd been seeking and began determinedly making his way through the chattering guests. In the opposite direction.
BOOK: The Impatient Groom
8.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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