Lucy Gordon - Rinaldo’s Inherited Bride

‘No!’ she cried, distraught. ‘Don’t say that. It mustn’t be true. It can’t be.’

A shadow crossed his face. ‘Why can’t it be true?’

‘Because I’m not in love with you.’

He looked at her, almost as though the words conveyed no meaning to him.

‘You’re still in love with that man in England,’ he said at last. ‘I spoke too soon.’

‘No, no, it’s not him, it’s-’

But she checked herself. This was no time to tell him about Rinaldo. Not here and now, in the middle of a party.

‘Please don’t say any more,’ she begged. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Later. I did it the wrong way, didn’t I? I rushed you. I can wait.’

He gave her a brief smile and walked away back to the party.

She watched him, bitterly blaming herself for not seeing this coming. It was as Gino had said. He was no longer a boy but a man, with a sensitivity to her feelings that she had not suspected. It had misled her into thinking he didn’t care.

As if to prove his new-found maturity Gino did not storm off alone, or sulk, but became the life and soul of the party. He danced every dance, flirted without end, and generally exerted himself to make things go with a swing.

The general opinion among the guests was that he must have attained his heart’s desire, because he presented the picture of a supremely happy man. Only a few people noticed that he and Alex never went near each other for the rest of the evening.

At last the guests began to drift away. There were crowing goodbyes, songs yodelled up to the moon, and an air of happy satiety.

‘Where’s Gino?’ Rinaldo asked Alex when they were alone.

‘I last saw him half an hour ago. Oh, Rinaldo-’

‘I know. It’s terrible. He’ll understand in the end, but he’s bound to be sore after he declared himself so openly, in front of all those people.’

‘He’s been marvellous since then,’ Alex observed. ‘It must have been very difficult for him to be so bright and cheerful after what I said to him.’

‘How much did you say?’

‘Only that I didn’t love him. It wasn’t the right time to tell him the rest.’

She approached Teresa who was clearing away with the girls, and gave them some help. Later she found Rinaldo.

‘Teresa says she saw Gino driving away,’ she said.

‘I guess he wants to think for a while. He’ll feel better afterward.’

But despite his confident words he stood on the porch for half an hour, staring into the darkness.

‘Don’t let him come back and find you watching out for him,’ Alex suggested gently. ‘He’s not a kid any more.’

‘You’re right. I can’t get out of the habit of thinking of myself as a kind of second father. I’ll have to now, won’t I? But it’s going to be hard, telling him.’

‘Do you think perhaps-we shouldn’t?’ she asked unhappily.

But he shook his head.

‘I can’t give you up for any reason. Not just because I love you, but because you’re necessary to me, as air and water are necessary. I love my brother, but even for him I can’t do without you. Come inside with me now, for I need, very much, to be alone with you.’

In the darkness they climbed the stairs. Almost before they reached the top she was in his arms, kissing and being kissed with a determined purpose that thrilled her.

Rinaldo put out his hand and opened the first door he came to, which was his own room.

‘I can’t wait to get to yours,’ he murmured, drawing her inside and shutting the door. He was already removing her clothes with urgent hands.

She helped him, stripping him even as he stripped her until they lay on the bed together and he took her into his arms for a long kiss that was part affirmation, part exploration. She loved this moment, when his tongue teased the inside of her mouth, rousing her gently and expertly to the pitch of desire that only he could create.

When he withdrew his mouth she could see that his face held the brooding expression that excited her so much. His great hand drifted over her breasts, enclosed one, caressing it with subtlety so that she was flooded with warmth.

For this above all she loved him, for revealing her own sensuality to her, showing her that the woman of desks and good order was only one facet, and not the truest one. The real Alex was a woman who lived for the primitive force that united them, and could relinquish herself totally to the man she loved.

For so harsh a man Rinaldo was an unexpectedly gentle and skilful lover. He waited for her to be ready, but he didn’t have to wait long. She wanted him, wanted more of the shattering sensation that pervaded her, wanted everything.

When her moment came Alex drove back against him, urging him on with all her strength until they reached fulfilment together. She saw his face in that instant, and wondered at its mixture of awe and surrender.

He fell asleep first, and she propped herself up on her elbow, watching him with eyes that were passionately protective, but also curious. The chance to study him unaware did not come often.

His face was scarcely softer in sleep than in waking. The chin was still stubborn, the nose too strong for comfort. They would still fight. He’d warned her of that, and the starkness of his face told her that it was true. But that was all right. Fighting wouldn’t suit everyone, but to them it would merely be an aspect of their love. And she could give as good as she got.

But she would be careful, because deep instinct warned her that he was more vulnerable than she, more easily hurt, less able to show it, and therefore more at risk.

His mouth intrigued her the most. It was not, at first glance, a sensual mouth; too firm, too wary, even in repose.

But she was no longer fooled by the look. She had kissed that mouth and felt it soften against hers. She had shared passion with that big, lanky body with its longs legs, powerful arms and skilful hands. No woman who had experienced that sensation could mistake his essential nature. He was a man who could love with every part of him, mind, soul and body.

After a long while she lay down, gazing into the darkness, looking back along the road that had brought her here.

Since coming to Italy she had discovered that the country had two faces. There was Italy of the smile and the song, of the rich colours, flowing wine and bright laughter. This was romantic Italy. This was Gino.

And there was another country whose past had been steeped in blood and vengeance, a dark, sombre place, full of sullen shadows, deadly feuds, anger, bitterness, danger. This was Rinaldo.

If a woman had once been delighted by the smile and the vibrant youth, why should she turn away from that to the other land, where a man with a face like granite and a soul to match offered only his darkness, and his need?

Why? Because she could not help herself. That was why.

She raised herself again and touched his face with her fingertips. Then she kissed him so softly that he did not awaken. He was hers, to have and to hold, to love and cherish. Because he needed her. And that was all there was to be said.

Rinaldo was in a mysterious place, one where he’d been before, but which had no name. He knew that he was waiting for something, but he did not know what.

His father was there again, looking at him with troubled eyes. But this was the moment when he always awoke, and the message was never delivered.

With a shudder he sat up in bed, his eyes open and staring. His whole body was shaking.

‘What is it?’ Alex said from beside him. ‘Rinaldo, wake up .’

She shook him gently. At first she thought he was too far lost in his unquiet dream for her to reach him, but at last, to her relief, she felt him relax.