The Italian's Innocent Bride Read online

  That fateful day, when they’d had their last argument, she’d promised herself that she would leave without looking back. And she had. She’d returned to London and returned to her maiden name. She’d worked hard to banish him from her mind and memories. But standing in the forecourt, Jane had the strangest sense of past and future colliding, to form an entirely different present. An almost ‘out of body’ sensation gripped her. She took great pains to conceal the maelstrom of feelings from Carlo. It was another skill she’d perfected during their marriage. Keeping him at emotional arms length. A tact she’d honed out of necessity that now felt like second nature.

  She repressed a sigh and smiled at him with cool agreement. “Let’s go inside then.”

  He nodded, his face averted from her as they strode towards the house. The door swept inwards as they approached, held in place by the housekeeper Anna. And at the sight of her, Jane smiled with genuine pleasure.

  “I’m so pleased to see you,” said in halting Italian, with unmistakable warmth.

  “And I you, carina,” the housekeeper replied, holding her waxen arms wide and pulling Jane close to her ample bosom. “You are too skinny,” she said, switching to English. “What happened? You no eat in London?”

  Jane laughed good naturedly. “I do, I promise.”

  “No, no,” Anna contradicted, putting an arm around Jane’s slender waist and winking at a bemused Carlo. “You not eat enough, I see it. I make you the Bolognese tonight, si?”

  “Oh, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Jane demurred, though her glands were already salivating at the very memory of Anna’s cooking.

  “It not trouble. I got to make the food for him anyway,” she tilted her head back at Carlo and then laughed, loudly and confidently. The sound echoed across the terracotta floor tiles, and it made Jane smile.

  Some things about Villa Vista were good. And Anna was one of them.

  “That would be lovely then, thank you, Anna. I can come and help you?”

  Anna grinned. “Like old times, no?”

  “Si.” Jane had loved helping Anna cook. Especially as Carlo had never been around in the evenings. The loneliness. Oh, the loneliness. It had been a darkly pervasive fog in the year she had spent at Villa Vista. Except for Anna. And the hideous Alessandra. And Carlo, but only late at night.

  They watched Anna go together. Carlo, once alone with his ex-wife, was left frowning. “I didn’t know you spent so much time with Anna.”

  “Well, I did.” She fixed him with an ice-cold stare. “Shall I pick a guest room upstairs?”

  Carlo’s sigh was impatient. “Even after what we shared earlier today?”

  “Especially because of what happened today.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I am not going to let my stupid body dictate how I behave.”

  His smile sent little waves of desire rolling down her spine. “There is nothing stupid about your body, mi bella.”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand and shook her head. “This is certainly not the time.”

  His eyes bore into hers for what felt like minutes. She resisted the temptation to squirm, but the way he was looking at her was as though he was peeling away every layer of her being, to reveal her most inner thoughts.

  “You are right. I need to speak to your London detectives and see what information they have. Go and make yourself at home again, cara.”

  She nodded, but everything inside of her revolted against the idea. This was not her home. Not now, and not then. It was simply a place she’d passed through. Like another foster home. And she’d found as little true love and happiness here as anywhere else.

  The guest rooms were all on the fourth floor. Carlo had designed the house to meet his business needs. From time to time, he hosted members of his staff in the Roman villa, but he preferred them to be kept a distance from his personal suite of rooms, which were on the first floor. Meaning Jane had to pass by them before reaching the top floor.

  The room that had been theirs was just down from the stairs. She eyed it warily as she passed. The smart thing to do would have been to keep going. Only… her heart began to hammer against her chest as her feet, as if of their own accord, dragged across the timber floor and towards the door.

  It was ajar, and with the slightest push, it opened wide, to reveal the room within.

  Jane’s breath snagged in her throat, and her eyes moistened with a film of salty moisture. It was the same. Exactly the same. With a fast-beating heart, she stepped inside the room. And back into her marriage.

  The four poster bed that Carlo had organised for their wedding night sat at its centre, enormous and comfortable, and capable of delivering such pleasure. Her pulse trilled as flashes of their marriage came back to her.

  She stepped further inside and ran her fingers over the foot of the bed, absently feeling the fine cotton cover. Past the bed, with its matching bedside tables, were the doors that led to the balcony. She sighed as she approached the view now, her eyes enormous. How many nights had she spent with her feet glued to the carpet, her sides pressed against the wall as she worried and wondered.

  That final night had been the last straw.

  She’d waited and waited, and finally Carlo had returned. Unusually for him, he had apparently drunk too much.

  She’d never seen him have more than an odd glass of wine, perhaps a Scotch at the end of the night. But that evening, he was obviously drunk, and furious.

  He’d come home, returned to their room, and said: Marrying you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

  She remembered those words now as though he were speaking them into the room. Her heart cracked with fresh pain.

  She had turned slowly, shock and pain mingling inside of her in what would become the preeminent emotions of her life. Did I honestly think you would adapt to this lifestyle? That you would be able to become a part of what I do?

  Jane echoed her emotions on that painful night. She spun now, as she had then, towards the door. She could see him through the veils of time, as fresh as if he were standing there now. His tuxedo was dishevelled. His bow tie now draped around his neck, hanging in two black tails across his shoulders. His shirt was parted several buttons down, revealing not just the tanned column of his neck, but also the top of his muscular chest. But it was his face that had shocked her. He was furious. Angry. Outraged. Scathing.

  It had been the end.

  In desperately hoping that the sexually proprietorial regard he felt for her would eventually become love, Jane hadn’t realised that she was hurting him, too. It was not just her own heart and soul at stake. Carlo was hurting just as badly as she was; because he knew what she wanted and needed, and it was something he simply couldn’t give her.

  He would never love her like she needed to be loved.

  In a clarifying moment, Jane had made her decision. And that decision had released them both from a marriage that seemed only to breed discontent.

  She had woken the next morning, after barely any sleep, and dressed in one of her favourite dresses. She ran her hands over her hips now, remembering the softness of the jersey against her skin. She had needed to feel untouchable. Every defence she could muster had been railed around her.

  “Jane?” He’d said, when she’d walked stonily into his office. Something had flickered in his face, an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. Perhaps guilt? Regret? She ignored it.

  “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

  He’d frowned. Just a flicker of surprise. “Goodbye? You are going somewhere?”

  Her voice had cracked slightly. “I’m leaving you, Carlo.” She had slid her wedding rings off her finger, and placed them silently onto the timber top of his desk. “Please don’t contact me again. I’ll let your lawyer know once I have a divorce attorney.”

  And he had been silent. Surprised, obviously, but silent. He’d stared at her as though he was finally beginning to understand something about her.

  “Why?” He’d said, eventually, as he’d s
tood.

  “Because we’re going to end up hating each other if we don’t end it.” She’d smiled weakly. “And I don’t hate you. Yet.”

  “I don’t hate you either,” he’d said thickly, his dark eyes ravaging her face from across the space of his desk.

  “Not yet,” she’d shrugged, a lopsided smile on her cheek. “And I’m not sticking around until you do.”

  “You are obfuscating my question. Why are you leaving? Why now?”

  Jane had swallowed, and forced herself to meet his eyes. “If not now, when?”

  He had made a sound of annoyance. “You are speaking in riddles.”

  “What better way to speak about a marriage blessed by the mad hatter?” She shook her head. Grief had made her part deranged. “I saw you last night, Carlo. You were so angry.” She had closed her eyes a little lower. “And you were right. I don’t belong here.” She’d breathed in a gulp of air, to try to calm her nerves. “You should have married her you know. Alessandra would make a far better wife than I do.”

  “Alesasandra? I have no idea what makes you think I am interested in Alessandra, but let me assure you, marrying her never entered my mind.”

  “But sleeping with her was fine?” Jane demanded hotly, her young, hurt heart like paper in water. Disintegrating beyond all recognition.

  Carlo’s dark eyes flashed with the depth of his emotion. “Who I was with before I met you has no bearing on our marriage. It has nothing to do with you.”

  Jane had turned away from him, to hide the way his confirmation of Alessandra’s hurtful bragging had seared her core. “You’re wrong.” She took in a fortifying breath and prayed for her strength not to fail her. “It shows me the kind of man you are. That you could make someone love you like she does, and then just callously walk away. You are a horrible bastard. As for me…” Her voice trailed off, as she lifted a shaking hand to her neck. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the frantic rushing of her pulse. “I don’t know why you married me. But I can honestly say that I wish I’d never met you. I was happy before. Damn it, I was happy.” She dipped her head forward, and closed her eyes. A single tear squeezed out and tilted to the floor. “And I’ll be happy again. As soon as I can forget this disaster ever happened.”

  The whole walk out of the Villa, she’d been sure he’d follow her. When he didn’t, she knew ever more that her decision was the right one. Being married to someone who didn’t care enough to fight for you was a horrible fate.

  Carlo’s voice came to her through the curtains of saddened-weary years. “You changed your mind?” He asked, though his tone showed his disbelief.

  “About staying in this room?” Jane shook her head. “No. I just couldn’t resist seeing it again.” She sighed heavily and turned back to the view displayed from the window. “Morbid curiosity, you could call it.”

  She didn’t even know Carlo was crossing the room until his hands came to rest on her back. “And is it as you remember?”

  She nodded. “It’s like stepping back into a door to the past.” She shuddered.

  “Not a happy past, from your reaction.”

  There was no need to answer that. After all, if their past had been happy, she would have stayed married to him. “Did you call Officer Warren?”

  He grunted. “The constable was her usual fount of wisdom.”

  “I liked her,” Jane contradicted.

  “I liked her too. Far more than the sergeant who is her superior. But unless they can find the person who broke into your home, I do not find them to be particularly impressive at their job.” He pressed his lips together, confident that his own investigators would turn up far more information. It was an unfair advantage of course. They had the full picture. His past. His parentage. The truth of the life he’d run from, that was always haunting the peripheries of his life. “And until then, I will make sure no harm comes to you.”

  Jane turned around to face him. It had been a totally miscalculated movement, for it brought her into close contact with his body; her head just a breath from his. “Carlo,” she darted her tongue out and licked her lower lip. “What happened this morning…”

  His lips were a half smile, “Us making love like no time has past?”

  She nodded awkwardly, as her blue eyes sought to understand him. “That was… really stupid.”

  “Was it?” He lifted a hand and ran a finger down the side of her face. Despite herself, she sucked in a deep, unsteady breath.

  “Yes. Obviously.”

  “Why?”

  When Jane frowned, a small line formed between her eyes. It creased now, as she knitted her brows together with visible consternation. “Because we’re divorced.”

  He shrugged his strong, broad shoulders. “So? This means we cannot be attracted to one another any longer?”

  “Yes,” she hissed emphatically. She stepped away from him to underscore the point. “It would be a disaster to open that particular Pandora’s Box again.”

  He couldn’t help but acknowledge Jane’s point. Not for the reasons she thought, though. Marriage to him had brought innocent, young Jane into a world of danger. A seedy, criminal element that was unworthy of her. Even his denouncement of all his father stood for had not insulated her from the effects of his parentage.

  He’d let her go to protect her, but now? Did he have the strength to resist the tug he felt for her?

  “Oh my God!” Jane clasped a hand over her mouth and stared at him as though she were about to pass out.

  “Jane?” Immediately, something inside him stirred. A desire to protect and reassure. “What is it?”

  “We didn’t use any protection!” Her enormous blue eyes clamped shut and she swayed a little, leaning backwards until she found the strength of the wall for support. “Oh my God!”

  Carlo shrugged. “We are both safe. What is the worry?”

  “The worry?” Nausea flared inside of her. “I’m not on the pill, Carlo!”

  A flare of emotion he couldn’t fathom flashed in his gut. “You aren’t?”

  “No.” Her hand was shaking as she lifted it and dragged it through her hair. “I’m not. And we just… we just…”

  She blanched visibly, as the apparently unpalatable idea of having conceived his baby sickened her. Carlo knew neither of them had been planning to conceive a child, but the desperation on her face angered him. “Would that be so very bad?” He demanded harshly, his black eyes scornful as they stared down at her.

  Jane nodded, her face continuing to drain of all colour before his very eyes. “Are you kidding me? It would be a nightmare. I can’t go through that again.”

  In her shock and self-directed anger, she’d admitted to something she’d sworn she’d never tell him. She’d said too much.

  “Again?” He honed in on her use of the word instantly, as she had known he would. He was too sharply analytical to let her slip of the tongue go unacknowledged. Certainly, to go unpunished.

  She had to take it back. She waved a hand in the air in the hopes of seeming dismissive. “I just mean that you and I got divorced. The whole messy break up thing. I don’t want to do that again, and I don’t want to do it to a child.”

  He wasn’t convinced. She could see doubt radiating from every line on his face. “You have not been pregnant before?”

  Jane blanched. She felt as though she’d been slapped. “It’s none of your business. What happened between the moment I walked out of your house and now has nothing to do with you.”

  Carlo could have roared like a wild beast, so fierce was the venomous fury within him. The panic and fear and anger and resentment all swirled inside him to form a whirlpool of sensation. “What are you not telling me?” He demanded, every inch of him coiled like a spring.

  “Nothing. Everything.” Her heart was pounding from a combination of fear and stress. She lowered her eyes and stared at the plush carpet. Her heels were leaving dent marks in it, she noticed abstractly.

  “Jane,” he spoke louder and more
harshly than he’d meant. But his whole being was on tenterhooks, waiting to comprehend what she’d meant. He tried to focus his mind, to find a degree of understanding in the mysterious statement. She had not been pregnant when she’d left him. He knew that if she had been, she would have stayed. Or at least would have told him. Jane Lang, the sweet woman he’d married, would never have kept such news from him. Not knowing how alone he was in the world.

  Which meant what? That she’d been with someone else? Conceived a baby with someone else? It was too unpalatable to give his mind over to. Imagining her body moving for another man’s. Worse, imagining the seed of another man growing inside of her.

  He pressed his hand against the wall to expel some of the built up emotions he was experiencing. The look of terror on her face washed him with remorse. He would never hurt her. He lived to protect her. He had failed her in that way, and he was failing her still.

  “Please, Jane. Whatever happened to you, not knowing is worse for me than the truth.”

  Only he did know something. He knew, for example, that there had not been a child. Nor a pregnancy.

  So what had she meant? If she hadn’t visibly grown fat with child, yet she was hinting that she’d been pregnant, did it mean that she had lost the baby early on? Or ended the pregnancy by her choice?

  He scanned her face, the very idea making him feel unsteady on his feet. “You know that I am an orphan. That I have no brothers. No sisters. That you and I are alike in that way. Two people, alone in the world, who found each other.”

  She nodded, her anguish a physical force he could feel.

  “If we had conceived a child, I know you would have felt obliged to tell me. Even once we were separated. You understand, as no one else can, what that child would have meant to me.”

  Jane’s mouth was dry. She opened her mouth to speak but no words would form. The guilt at her body’s inability to do what it had been designed to do made her shake. Their baby would have been loved, even when they could no longer love one another.

  “I know you will not lie to me now, Jane. Did we make a baby together?”

  A hiss escaped Jane’s lips. She wanted to deny it. Wouldn’t it be easier if she could simply lie? Or at least hide the truth? Think of a vague way to cover over what they’d had within their hands, and not been able to grasp? She forced her eyes to meet his, and with that one look, she knew that he deserved to grieve as much as she had. As much as she still did.