Julia James - It Happened In Rome - The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SARA CRAVENwas born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘NO,’ SAID Emily. She spoke with cool clarity, but her green eyes flashed at the two lawyers on the other side of the desk. ‘Not a divorce. You will kindly inform your client that I want an annulment.’

The younger man gasped audibly and received a reproving glance from his senior, Arturo Mazzini, who took off his glasses, wiped them and replaced them on his nose.

‘But, Contessa,’ he said gently, ‘that is surely just—a question of emphasis. The important matter must be the actual dissolution of your marriage, not how it is done.’

His placatory smile was not returned.

‘I can decide for myself what is, or is not important,’ said Emily. ‘A divorce—even the no-fault variety that your client is offering—suggests that a marriage really existed between us. I wish to make it perfectly clear to the world that it has not. That I am not, and never have been, the wife of Count Rafaele Di Salis—in the usual sense of the word,’ she added.

Signor Mazzini looked appalled. ‘Clear—to the world?’ he repeated. ‘But you cannot mean that, Contessa. Any arrangement between yourself and the Conte Di Salis must be a private one, its terms not meant to be divulged.’

‘I wasn’t responsible for the arrangement of my marriage,’ Emily told him stonily. ‘My father was. Nor did I offer any guarantees about the ending of it. And please don’t call me Contessa,’ she went on. ‘It’s hardly appropriate under the circumstances. Miss Blake will be just fine.’

There was an uneasy silence. Signor Mazzini produced a fine linen handkerchief and applied it to his forehead.

‘Is it too warm in here, signore?’ his antagonist asked more kindly. ‘Would you like me to open a window?’

Both men repressed a shiver. There had been a sharp frost that morning and the formal gardens around Langborne Manor were still silvered over. Indoors, too, the elderly central heating system left a lot to be desired, although, to Signor Mazzini’s certain knowledge, the Conte Di Salis had offered more than once in the past three years to have it replaced.

‘You are all goodness,’ he returned. ‘But no, I thank you.’ There was a pause, then he leaned forward. ‘Contessa—Miss Blake—I beg you to reconsider. The divorce would be a mere formality and the settlement terms my client proposes are more than generous.’

‘I want nothing from the Count.’ Emily lifted her chin. ‘As soon as I’m twenty one, he will no longer be in control of my affairs. My father’s money and this house will finally be mine. I need nothing else.’

She sat back in her chair, the low winter sun slanting in through the long sash window behind her striking fire from her auburn hair.

Young Pietro Celli pretended to busy himself with the papers in the file in front of him while he studied her unobtrusively. Too thin, too pale and altogether too tense, he thought, recalling with renewed appreciation the frankly sinuous curves of the Count’s latest mistress, which he had been permitted to admire on a number of occasions—although only from a discreet distance.

The slim hands were bare, he noticed, so heaven only knew what the Count’s soon-to-be-ex-wife had done with His Excellency’s wedding ring, or the Di Salis sapphire, which would have to be returned, of course, however the marriage reached its end.

But her eyes—Madonna mia!—they were amazing—the colour of emeralds, and with those long lashes too. However, the rest of the face—nondescript, he decided with a mental shrug.

And clearly a virago along with all her other faults. Small wonder, then, if a connoisseur of women like Rafaele Di Salis had opted for a marriage in name only. Who could blame him?

‘Unless, of course, your client has gambled my entire inheritance away on some dodgy financial deal,’ this impossible young woman was adding lightly. ‘Perhaps you’ve been sent here to break the bad news.’

Signor Mazzini bristled, while Pietro felt his jaw drop and had to hastily recover himself.

‘That is a most damaging allegation, signorina,’ the older man said at last, his voice icy. ‘Your husband has dealt with the trust in an exemplary manner, have no doubt of that. You will be a wealthy young woman.’ Much wealthier than you deserve, the note in his voice suggested.

Emily sighed. ‘I wasn’t serious. I’m perfectly aware that Count Di Salis is one of the stars of the world of finance.’ She added stiltedly, ‘And, naturally, I’m grateful for anything he’s been able to do on my behalf.’

The lawyer spread his hands, almost helplessly. ‘Then, if I may be permitted to ask, why not show your gratitude by acceding to the plan for a divorce?’

Emily pushed her chair back and rose. She walked over to the window and stood looking out. Her slender figure was clad in a cream woollen shirt tucked into close-fitting black cord trousers, with a wide leather belt reducing her waist to a handspan. The rich glow of her hair was drawn back to the nape of her neck and fastened with a black ribbon bow.

She said quietly, ‘Because, when I remarry, I wish the ceremony to be held in our parish church, but the vicar is a strong traditionalist and won’t agree if I’m divorced. I also intend to wear white for the occasion so that my bridegroom will know that he isn’t getting damaged goods.’ She paused. ‘Is that plain enough for your client?’

‘But your present marriage is still a fact, Miss Blake.’ Signor Mazzini’s reminder was brusque. ‘Is it not a little soon to be planning another wedding?’

‘There is no marriage,’ Emily said. ‘Just a business deal nearing the end of its shelf life. And I can hardly be bound by that when considering my—future.’

She turned back. ‘Now may I offer you both some tea?’ Her polite smile did not reach her eyes. ‘I’m afraid the coffee in this house would hardly appeal to you.’

Signor Mazzini rose. ‘I thank you, but no. I think we both need a little space—to consider. Perhaps we may have a further discussion tomorrow, signorina, in the hope you may have decided to—think again. Because, I tell you plainly, His Excellency will not agree to an annulment.’