The Impatient Groom (5 page)

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Authors: Sara Wood

BOOK: The Impatient Groom
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And there it was. Mother. La Contessa Violetta D‘Antiga. Sophia stared at it but her fingers were shaking so much that it fell from her fingers to the floor. Rozzano reached out to retrieve it and as he bent his cheek came so close that it almost brushed hers.
She felt her chest become banded with iron and her breath suck in sharply.
‘I know this must be difficult for you, but I'll help
you,' he said, so softly that she strained closer to hear. ‘I'll be with you every step of the way if you wish.'
There was a sudden violent movement in the open doorway to the waiting room. Almost simultaneously she was dazzled by a series of blinding flashes which made her scream in fear.
Rozzano shot to his feet, muttering ferociously in Italian under his breath, and in a matter of seconds he was roaring through the door in hot pursuit of the intruder.
Sophia saw Frank move to the window. She jumped up with a sudden surge of energy and joined him. Her heart leapt to her mouth. In the street below, Rozzano was shouting and clinging onto the door of a car, which was accelerating away.
‘He'll be killed!' she croaked in horror.
Without thinking, she dashed out of the office and down the stairs, running like the wind after the careering car. Rozzano fell, and rolled away from it.
And lay motionless.
 
He was deeply shaken, though not by his fall, or the brush with danger. He'd taken too many risks paragliding and skiing and had faced fear too often for it to affect him any more. It was his reaction that staggered him.
Astonishingly, he'd wanted to protect Sophia from press exposure—from the lies, and the stories they'd weave about them both. Her scream of terror had aroused in him a response so visceral and primitive that he might have been a caveman, defending his woman!
And so he'd done the unthinkable, broken his own rules, and acted like a fool. He could have kicked himself. The press would have a field-day with this one.
Furious at his stupidity, he lay without moving, allowing
his anger to fade and his bruised muscles to recover. He became aware that his head throbbed. A gentle hand touched it. Sophia's. Wonderful.
His body responded immediately, much to his annoyance, generating warmth in his loins. To his astonishment, the heady combination of virgin and siren had fired an almost uncontrollable desire in him, a desire more powerful than anything he'd felt for years.
Her dreamy smile had driven him mad. He'd wanted to know what she was thinking whenever she ‘drifted'. And, he wanted to be a part of her fantasies. Dammitl He'd have to get a grip.
She checked his pulse. He felt it falter then accelerate and she murmured in tender concern. And he felt cherished for the first time in his life.
Guilt crawled all through him. She was so honest and trusting. He knew he shouldn't lie there inert—but the urge to play patient to her nurse was overwhelming. Even the thought of that scenario brought a skin-tingling frisson curling through his every nerve, tightening every sinew and heating his blood.
He knew why he'd reacted so violently. The opportunity for action had seemed almost welcome and it had released some of the exquisite agony which had been building up in his love-starved body.
He could smell her now. Wanted to lift his face and inhale her intoxicating fragrance. Disgusted with his lack of control, he pressed his hands harder into the ground and let the gravel take his mind off his carnal needs.
But it was a struggle. Her hands were now systematically feeling his limbs for breakages and he all but groaned, the warmth in his loins becoming searing hot. Desperate to curb any physical reaction to the electric sensation of her hands on his body, he concentrated doggedly
on the sounds of the small crowd gathering around them.
They knew her. Liked her. Felt concern for her. He could hear the love in their voices and he was glad. Such a good and decent woman would bring delight to frail Alberto D‘Antiga's soft heart and the old man would die in peace, knowing that his family name was in good hands.
Unless, of course, some good-looking, gold-digging parasite turned her head! His brows drew together moodily. That mustn't happen. She'd be hurt. Or worse... corrupted. His jaw tightened. He was back in caveman mode again, taking up his cudgel to crack the head of any man who harmed her. Was that the reaction Violetta had prompted in men?
‘He's in pain!' she cried.
He felt the light touch of Sophia's fingers on his forehead smoothing out the frown lines and heard her soft murmur as she spoke to him, pleading with him, an appealing little catch in her voice giving him immense problems with his self-control.
‘Please open your eyesl' she begged.
‘Now don' thee be upsettin‘ theself,' came a deep, Dorset voice above him.
Warmth and caring flooded to the distressed Sophia. She was clearly a much loved and exceptional woman. It confirmed his initial assessment that Violetta's daughter was a woman in a million, imbued with rare qualities...
No wonder he'd been intrigued by her. Had wanted to make love to her, then and there! How he'd stopped himself he didn't know. It was like being a teenager again, ruled by sudden unbridled lust!
And it unnerved him because he wouldn't be able to
walk away from her unwelcome attractions. He'd have to be with her, hour after hour, day after day, introducing her to Venetian society, worrying about her innocence...
He stopped breathing. Something had occurred to him and his brain went into overdrive. Sophia's hand lay on his chest and she was beginning to panic at its lack of movement, so he let his breath out slowly. He had the answer to all his problems. And as she relaxed in relief he neatly fitted her into his momentous decision.
He would marry her.
CHAPTER THREE
 
I
T WAS a brilliant solution, he thought. A strange, breathless excitement stole over him. He didn't love her-never could love any woman. But she would make the perfect wife.
Her hands had moved to his upper thigh. They trembled as she tested the movement of his femur. It was obvious from her hesitant touch that she knew little of men. A surge of excitement almost betrayed him as he imagined teaching her the pleasures of the flesh.
His breathing rasped harshly. He could hardly wait. Sophia even had money of her own! Too many titleseekers and materialistic women had propositioned him. But Sophia...she was different. She had values he admired. She had an eagerness to work and concern for others. She had nursed her ailing father and, more important, she adored children.
Children. He bucked as a shaft of pain sliced through him when the nightmare memory forced its way to the surface. Her hand rested gently on his chest and thinking of her sweet face helped him to drive the dark hell away again.
‘He may have cracked a rib,' she said anxiously. ‘Did you see how his chest contracted then?'
Racked with guilt, he suffered the gentle exploration of her hands. The pain was deeper than she knew. Deep enough to shut off his heart for ever. Like his father, he had married into the D‘Antiga family. He'd been twentyeight, and had fallen head over heels for the recently
divorced Nicoletta who, unknown to him, had a highly colourful sexual past.
A dainty, extravagant thirty-two, she had worked her wiles on him and stolen his heart. They'd only been married for two years when she'd died, pregnant with his child.
Desperately he pushed back the rest of the horror. He couldn't deal with it, couldn't make it known. If he did, the Barsini name would be vilified.
But Sophia could ease his nightmares. He needed her tenderness. Hope began to surge through him, and for the first time in years he believed he could find some kind of happiness.
And she? He tried to see his intentions from her point of view. She had shown an appealingly bewildered interest in him. The sex would be fantastic. Her passions ran deep, with an intensity that matched his own. He'd read that in her eyes, in every gesture of her highly charged body.
He could make her happy. He
would
make her happy. And he could help her to cope, too. It would be hard for her, he argued, to dive head first into Venetian society without a guide. And who better than him to be her mentor?
‘He's still not responding! I think we should call the doctor,' she said anxiously.
‘Gone to Durbridge,' came the reply. ‘Vet's not far, though. Or the baby nurse'll be along in a minute.'
Rozzano held back a grin. He'd better ‘recover' before he experienced some interesting medical practices! Then all he had to do was to win her over—and quickly, before the wolf pack moved in, intent on her money and title. Opening his eyes slowly, he saw the relief on her pale, wide-eyed face.
‘You're all right!'
He wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her. And felt a fraud for his deception. ‘Shaken,' he said uncomfortably, even though it was the truth.
There was a murmur from the crowd and he was immediately bathed in smiles and friendly words of warning to be careful, to take it easy, to sit up slowly when he felt ready, no rush, don't you fret...
He felt bad and couldn't meet their eyes. Many hands helped him to sit and then stand. Someone brushed dust from his back. Someone else offered to fetch him a brandy from the nearby pub. The local midwife—presumably the baby nurse-anxiously offered her services and he declined with gravity yet with a twinkle in his eyes which set everyone laughing.
And all the time he was thinking of Sophia, planning, scheming, and stemming his eagerness to begin now, this minute, to hold her, kiss her luscious mouth...
At last they were alone. A few yards away, he could hear Luscombe's raised voice and he hoped the temp was getting short shrift. The photo would be dynamite.
‘I'm sorry,' he said to Sophia, standing as close as he judged acceptable. The wind blew tendrils of her hair around her face and he caught a tantalising perfume in the air. He forced himself to stay just where he was though he shook in the attempt ‘I tried to stop that photographer but—'
‘What was he up to?' she said, weaving loose tendrils of hair into her braid. ‘How did he know you were there?'
‘I'd say, judging from the argument going on behind us, that Luscombe's secretary was the culprit,' he told her drily. ‘I expect she contacted the local photographer when she saw who'd been booked in for the eleven o'clock appointment.'
Sophia shook her head in bewilderment. ‘Just because you're a prince?'
He grinned, loving her astonishment. He'd never impress her with his illustrious ancestors! ‘Amazing, isn't it? It's possible she switched on Luscombe's intercom when she brought in the coffee and listened in to everything we said. The photographer must have thought it was his birthday when she was called in to bring you a glass of water and found me bending over you.'
Her cheeks flamed. And all the time he was thinking that he had to get her alone to begin his seduction. He could think of several single men who'd adore her. And many married ones-including his brother. He went cold.
‘Are you all right?' she asked, tentatively touching his arm.
He nodded, his hand across his face to hide the snarl which wanted to rip across it. ‘A twinge. Just a minute and I'll be fine,' he said tightly.
He knew what would happen. Once Enrico knew his plans for Sophia, he'd do everything in his power to make his life hell. Perhaps... He stiffened till his entire body shook with passion. There was no ‘perhaps'. Sadly he knew his brother too well.
Enrico would seduce her himself out of sheer spite!
‘I think you need a cup of tea,' she said, her hand lightly stroking his back.
Tea! He looked at her helplessly. She'd be eaten alive. and spat out by Enrico without a moment's thought. He had to take action—now.
An idea came to him. He called over to Frank. ‘I think I should get Sophia away from here,' he told the solicitor, doing his best to look worried.
A pang of guilt nudged his conscience but he pushed it away. The ends justified the means. Sophia needed protection.
He dreaded to think what indignities Enrico would put her through before he finished with her.
‘That photo will be seen as incriminating,' he went on. He took a step closer and his hands closed around her shoulders. His heart began to thunder. ‘It will look as if we were engaged in an intimate moment together.' He wished! The excitement ran like a river through him and he was amazed that she didn't feel its power and slap his face.
She swallowed. ‘In...intimate?'
‘Think about it. You lying on a sofa, me leaning over you as if I'm about to kiss you—' Which he almost was, he thought wryly.
‘But that's not true!'
Her cheeks had deepened to the colour of a rose. So enticing.
‘I know that, you know it, but pictures lie. The press makes what it wants of a shot, as I know to my cost. There'll be an intense interest in you. Life will be unbearable. They'll crowd around you, shouting, pushing, thrusting microphones in your face, popping flash bulbs and generally making your every movement impossible.'
He felt her shoulders tense up. Without thinking, he stroked them and her muscles eased beneath his soothing fingers before her gasp of alarm made him stop. But he let his hands remain. He needed to touch her, to feel her warmth, to inhale the freshness of her skin. To dream. To imagine removing her clothes, slowly, tormenting himself exquisitely as he revealed her body beneath.
He wanted her for himself, he realised. Somewhere secret and private where he could quietly begin to make love to her...
They'll lose interest when I tell them what really happened!' she declared shakily.
She had no idea what lay ahead. He pitied her. She had a lot to learn. ‘Fine,' he said, using ruthlessness to get his own way. ‘You do that. Tell them that you felt faint because you'd just discovered that your mother was a Venetian heiress. Explain that you're a countess and disgustingly rich. What do you think they'd do with that story? “Jobless girl out for the Count”. Or “Rags to riches”. The Cinderella story is a fantasy everyone would love to read about. It would run and run.'
She stared at him in horror. He moved closer, drawn by her helplessness. ‘I see,' she said unhappily. ‘But they'll leave me alone once they know how ordinary I am, surely?'
It came to him then. She was vulnerable. She would need him. That was how he would break down her resistance. He would offer his protection, take charge of her life, and teach her...everything.
 
Sophia felt safe at last. Here in a suite in the River House Hotel, with Rozzano next door, she would be protected from the nightmare scenarios he had described so graphically on the journey from Dorset to London.
It was Frank who'd convinced her to hide herself among London's teeming millions for a day or so. Sophia had managed to pack a case and seemingly in no time at all she was in Rozzano's Lear jet, curled up in a vast armchair seat. His hair-raising tales about the press had scared her stiff, and she'd hated the fact that she might be chased by the media wherever she.went. How could she ever live like a normal person?
‘Loosen up, Sophia.' He'd drawn her to him comfortingly. ‘All this has been a shock, I know, but give it time. Live each moment, and make plans later. In the meantime, let me handle everything.'
‘Thank you,' she muttered weakly.
It occured to her that she'd never been weak before. It must be something to do with being thrown into the deep end of life suddenly. She'd never felt so vulnerable, never needed someone strong and protective until now.
He tightened his hold on her. Now she could feel the hardness of his hipbone, the warmth of his body and its subtle fragrance.
‘I can't ever become part of your world,' she said, feeling forlorn.
‘You are part of it. In fact, you're very similar to me.'
Sophia was intrigued. ‘In what way?'
‘Being a vicar's daughter has taught you restraint, courtesy, good manners and concern for others. You will have learnt to put the feelings of other people before your own and concealed your emotions and needs—'
‘How did you know that?' she exclaimed in amazement.
Rozzano looked at her gravely. That was my upbringing too. I know what it's like to be torn between polite behaviour and the desire to let rip. Society has made demands on us both which we've- tried to fulfil. You will fit very well into what you call my world. The goodness of your heart will see you through any social situation you encounter. Everything else is unimportant.'
She remained within the circle of his arms, astonished by the similarities between them and the kindness of his words. It was the sort of wise observation her father would have made—and she'd believed there were few men with as gentle and perceptive a nature as him. Her admiration for Rozzano deepened.
‘Don't forget,' Rozzano added more cynically, ‘that people will accept you because you're a millionairess.'
‘You're kidding!' From the gravity of his expression, it was clear that he wasn't.
A millionairess! She went hot and cold.
‘Think what you can do with so much money.' He gave a small, wintry smile. ‘A wardrobe or two of gorgeous clothes, shoes, luxurious holidays—'
‘Stop! You're testing my puritanical upbringing to the utmost!' Sophia protested, trying not to be seduced by the thought of silk undies and flattering clothes. And someone to tell her what to do with her hair... ‘No,' she said firmly, ‘I grant you it'll be a joy not to wonder if I can pay my bills, but just think, Rozzano, what I can do! Help people in need, for instance, like...orphans, the homeless, sick children... I've felt frustrated and helpless whenever I've watched TV reports showing human suffering. I've given what I can, but it has always seemed an insignificant amount.' Her eyes sparkled as the power of money hit home. ‘I can be much more generous in future. So the media does good as well as bad, Rozzano. We wouldn't hear of these tragedies if they didn't publicise them.'
He grunted. ‘Are you always so even-handed?'
‘I try to be fair.'
She lowered her lashes, confused by his thoughtful stare. ‘And I will try to help you, to be by your side whenever you need me.' His voice was husky, his eyes warm. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he was flirting. She picked at the wavy hem of her cardigan and saw herself through his eyes—a less than beautiful, unsophisticated woman with metaphorical straw in her hair. Besides, she remembered, he was married. Her hand flew to her mouth as something awful occurred to her.

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