‘Anyone might see you.’
She shook her head, unwound his fingers from her wrist and took them to her mouth, kissing each one in turn, sucking them, rolling her tongue around each fingertip, a blatant promise. ‘Not here,’ she said, taking his hand lower, curling his fingers around the third button, popping another so her bodice parted and exposed a wide wedge of her breasts that she held the palm of his hand against. ‘We’re completely and utterly alone. The only one who will see me is you.’
For a moment she had him, his dark eyes molten, his fingers moving over her skin, exploring, brushing a nipple so that she mewed with pleasure, arching her back to press further into his hand.
‘Raoul,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me.’
He spun away so suddenly she was left reeling with his absence. ‘I have to go,’ he said, his chest rising and falling like a bellow. ‘Take your time. I will send Marco later on to fetch the basket.’
And then he was gone. When she recovered enough to look around, she saw his long legs eating up the stone steps three at a time until he reached the top. She watched him stride towards the castle, and she collapsed on the sand, lacking even the energy to rebutton her bodice, feeling as stung and sick as if he’d physically slapped her.
What was happening to her? She was barely married twenty-four hours and her husband was rejecting her, refusing to make love to her when he had already shown how good they could be together.
So what the hell was his problem?
BY THE time she returned to the castle, Raoul was gone. ‘To the village,’ Natania told her, looking sullen again.
‘Did he say when he would be back?’
She shook her head and passed her a cup of hot, sweet tea; Gabriella gave up. Natania could not help. How could anybody help when she did not know what the problem was herself?
So she sat in the library to await his return. Maybe Phillipa had been right, after all. Maybe she had rushed into this marriage without talking through the details of each other’s expectations. Maybe she should have waited. But it was not too late; they had only been married one day. She flatly refused to believe it was too late. He loved her, she was sure. Otherwise why would he have married her?
So she would wait, and when he returned they would talk.
She busied herself with studying the books in his collection, trying desperately to be interested and get absorbed when she found a rare or first edition, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her ears were permanently pricked, waiting for any sound that might signal Raoul’s return.
Natania eventually came and brought her a bowl of chunky soup filled with vegetables, crusty bread and local butter; it smelled wonderful but Gabriella could not stomach it and sent it back barely touched.
And, as day slipped into evening, Gabriella knew he intended not to return while she was awake, so she pressed Natania to take her to Raoul’s room. ‘Are you sure?’ the woman asked.
‘I have to,’ she said. Natania nodded and showed her to his room, not on the first floor as she had expected, but a modest room tucked away behind the kitchen, barely better than servants’ quarters.
‘He sleeps here?’
Natania nodded. ‘Ever since we have worked for him. He will not sleep on the floor above.’ She fetched Gabriella a robe and laid it on the bed. ‘I am sorry. Even I did not think he could be this cruel or I would have not have let you marry him.’
‘I love him,’ she said, feeling weak, stupid and totally shell-shocked. ‘Nothing could have stopped me marrying him.’
The gypsy woman nodded, her eyes sad. ‘I know.’
He watched her sleep, her chestnut hair splayed across his pillow. He physically ached to join her, but he knew he could not. Not if he was ever to let her go.
And he must let her go. She was too precious, too beautiful. She deserved far more than he could ever give her. She deserved better. She deserved a man who might save her if she ever fell …
And yet here she was in his bed, curled up like a kitten, and here he was, rock hard with wanting her. He could take her right now. He could climb into bed, kiss her into wakefulness, caress her sweet curves and bury himself deep in her sweet depths.
He ground his teeth in frustration and growled low in his throat, forcing his feet to stay right where they were.
Why didn’t she give up? How many times did he have to reject her before she hated him enough to leave him alone?
He had never taken her for such a fighter.
And he had never taken himself for such a fool. He knew he was capable of being a fool; God, he’d more than proved that eleven years ago, marrying a woman at the end of her career who had wanted the safety blanket of a marriage, while refusing to be satisfied with being out of the limelight, still lusting after the adoration of everyone. The adoration of just one man had not been enough.
He thought he’d learned his lesson then.
But no. He had been a fool to agree to this. He had known it would come unstuck. He had known it could not work. There were other ways to get revenge against a family he hated with his soul without holding someone so precious and innocent hostage in the process.
It was so wrong to hold her hostage.
But he could not afford let her go yet. If he did, she would flee straight into the arms of Garbas and this would all have been for nothing; Umberto’s plans would backfire in spectacular fashion. He had not come this far to let a Garbas win now. So he needed to keep her here just a little while longer, just until Garbas was put away for good, and then he would let her go. There had to be someone decent out there for her—someone worthy of her love.
And in the meantime there would be no more picnics on the beach. No more occasions where they could be alone together, even if it meant no more smiles, no more laughter to add to his bank of memories. And, given what he was doing, the last thing he deserved were smiles and laughter.
‘I’m sorry, Bella,’ he whispered, aching for her, aching for what he had lost before he had ever known the full extent of her love. ‘So very sorry.’ And he left her sleeping and walked away.
‘We need to talk.’ It was after lunch and he’d been avoiding her all day, taking his meals alone and forcing her to do likewise, but finally she had managed to track him down to the library.
‘Bella,’ he said, rising to his feet to greet her with a kiss to her cheeks. ‘How lovely to see you. Did you sleep well?’
‘Forget it, Raoul. I’m not in the mood.’ She didn’t want empty platitudes. All morning a storm had been building outside, thick, dark clouds building on the horizon, sweeping in from the sea until they formed a heavy dark bank. All morning a storm had been building inside her, dark and brooding and increasing in intensity. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘You know it is. I want to know what’s going on.’ ‘I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.’ ‘I don’t think so. I think I’m the one at a disadvantage. I gave up on waiting for you to come to my bed, given that was apparently too onerous a task the night we were married, so I slept in your bed last night, hoping you would join me some time through the night.’
‘Bella, I am so sorry. I was held up …’
‘Doing what? I want to make love with my husband. What is wrong with that?’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘I do! I just don’t understand what you’re saying or why you’re saying it. I’m your wife, Raoul,