Lynn Raye Harris - Men In Uniform - Captivated By The Prince

It was all over very suddenly. A groan from the losing side and a triumphant shout from Alessandro’s who, brandishing the rope, punched the air with their fists. Then there was a noisy round of back-slapping and congratulations, as well as good-natured banter before Alessandro came back to reclaim his top.

‘I’ll just take a shower, then I’ll be right with you,’ he promised, wheeling away to accompany Federico. ‘Then we’ll go,’ he called back to her over his shoulder. ‘Be ready.’

The villagers wanted Alessandro to share in their celebrations, and were disappointed when he told them he had to leave. But, having exacted a promise from him to return the following year, they accepted his decision and fell back.

‘If we are to reach Monte Volere before bedtime, I must go now,’ he explained, provoking another round of nudges and tempting Emily to disillusion everyone on the spot. Her husband’s hair might have been still wet from the shower, and his top clinging damply to the water droplets around his neck—giving the impression that he was in such a hurry to get back to her he hadn’t troubled to dry himself properly—but she knew he only wanted to get to his country estate before dark.

Beyond the narrow streets and close-clustered village houses the countryside opened into a vast, sprawling plain. As the tawny volcanic soil paled to blonde they sped on through the pale, freshly tilled earth on an arrow-straight road, until another range of hills, even higher than those they had left behind, loomed in front of them.

‘Not long now,’ Alessandro promised as he began to negotiate a series of tortuous hairpin bends. ‘I’m going to stop when we get to the top,’ he informed her. ‘Then you’ll see one of the most spectacular vistas in all of Ferara.’

Emily formed a sound of appreciation in her throat. But the last thing on her mind after the events in the village was a sightseeing trip. And even if Alessandro’s suggestion of an affair between them had been his idea of a joke, she had believed this trip to his country estate signalled his intention to bring them closer—if only for the sake of appearances. Now she knew the visit was nothing more than proof he intended to keep his word and show her around. And, keen as she was to learn more about Ferara, she was keener still to learn more about her husband.

‘Save it,’ she muttered ungraciously.

As Alessandro shot her a curious glance Emily regretted the outburst. He was only doing what he thought was right—what he thought she would enjoy.

‘No. I insist,’ he said firmly.

She had to admit he was right about the view. As she climbed out of the car Emily felt like an eagle staring down at the lake, tiny below them, shimmering in the heat haze like a panel of jewel-encrusted silk.

‘It’s absolutely stunning,’ she murmured, fighting off the insane urge to move close enough to slip her arm through his.

‘This region of Ferara has many similarities to the fiords of Norway,’ Alessandro said. ‘Don’t stand too close to the edge,’ he warned, coming to stand between Emily and the sheer drop only a metre or so in front of her feet.

Emily smiled, then felt unaccountably bleak when he started back to the car as if there was some other fabulous camera opportunity waiting just around the next bend for them.

‘You will find there is a lot of variety in Ferara,’ Alessandro remarked as he turned the car back onto what was now little more than a steep mountain track. ‘I hope you will eventually come to love it as much as I do.’

And the point would be…? Emily thought his remark strange, bearing in mind the peculiar circumstances of their marriage. ‘Mmm,’ she managed non-committally.

But if the view he had shown her had been the eagle’s perch, then his estate at Monte Volere was the eagle’s eyrie, she discovered as Alessandro turned in beneath a narrow stone archway. Set on the highest point of a hill cloaked with vineyards, the pink and cream stone of the old manor house glowed rose-red where shadows were painted by the failing light.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she said curiously.

Alessandro turned to stare at her, an amused expression tugging at his mouth. ‘Rest and recreation—’

‘No. Really,’ Emily insisted.

‘Really,’ Alessandro replied steadily as he drew to a halt in front of the old building. ‘I thought you needed to get away from everything…everyone…for a few days.’

‘To be alone?’

But Alessandro had already climbed out of the car.

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ he called over his shoulder as she followed him up the steps. He opened an oak door and beckoned her inside.

My room? Emily thought, banishing the sense of disappointment. She stared across the stone-flagged hall as Alessandro sprinted up the stairs.

‘Well?’ he said, leaning over the carved wooden banister. ‘Aren’t you coming?’

The room he showed her into had been made cosy with throws, rugs and cushions in a variety of warm colours. One wall was almost completely devoted to a huge fireplace, carved from a single block of mellow honey-coloured sandstone. This housed a black wrought-iron grate and, because there was no need for a fire, an earthenware dish containing dried pot pourri to provide a splash of colour on the terracotta tiles. A wide-armed fan whirred lazily on the ceiling, stirring the scent of dried rose petals into the air. The thin coating of yellow ochre paint on the rough plaster walls had paled to lemon where the sunlight had faded it over many years, and exposed oak beams supported the high, sloping ceiling over the vast four-poster bed. Dressed with crisp white bedlinen, this offered a breathtaking view over the surrounding countryside—something Emily discovered when impulsively she flung herself down on it and bounced up and down.

‘I’ll be right across the landing if you need me,’ Alessandro said, closing the door quietly behind him before she had a chance to say a word.

Suddenly Monte Volere didn’t seem so appealing—she didn’t even want to be there any more. Gusting a long, shaky sigh, Emily stared around the empty room. If this was Alessandro’s idea of a honeymoon—She mashed her lips together, remembering he wasn’t much good at wedding nights either. But she wouldn’t let it get her down. No expectations, no disappointments, she reminded herself—and at least the bed looked comfy.

As Emily had anticipated, the high bed was extremely comfortable. The ceiling fan turned rhythmically over her head, soothing her while it kept everything airily pleasant. Over and above all this, she had taken a leisurely bath to ensure she got a good night’s sleep—but, glancing at the clock, she saw it was three o’ clock in the morning.

Safe to say success has not crowned my ventures, she thought, staring across at the closed door onto the landing. Irrationally, she felt an overwhelming urge to open it. Open it, and then what? Emily asked herself impatiently, giving her pillows an extra thump. And then leave the rest to fate, she decided, after another period of restless thrashing. Swinging her feet onto the cool tiled floor, she padded silently across the room. With care, she managed to lift the heavy wrought-iron latch without making a sound. Cautiously, she tested the door. The hinges were well oiled, and the movement was squeak-free. Opening it a little more, so that it looked like an invitation rather than an oversight, she hurried back to bed with her heart thundering in anticipation.

Above the sound of the fan she thought she could hear something…footsteps, maybe—measured, rhythmical—pacing, she decided. It had to be Alessandro, since he had already told her that the staff at Monte Volere came in on a daily basis, so she knew they were all alone in the house.