He said hoarsely, ‘Santa Madonna, Elena, you surely cannot mean that.’‘I do mean it,’ she said.
‘Those are my conditions for having your child, and ensuring the Manzini succession.
They won’t change.’He took a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to stroke her cheek, and Ellie recoiled, her heart skipping a beat as she retreated a step.
He must believe, she thought, that he would only have to touch her.
Angelo halted, the dark brows snapping together as he studied her.
He said at last, ‘So am I never to hope that we will spend our nights sharing a bed together—sleeping in each other’s arms after we have made love?’She bit down on her lip.
‘Why not hope instead, signore, that I waste none of the time you mentioned, and give you a son very quickly.’ She paused.
‘And I’m quite sure your nights won’t be lonely without me, so you could be getting the best of both worlds.’‘How curious you should think so.’ He drank the remainder of his whisky with an angry jerk of the arm, then walked to the door, holding it open for her with exaggerated politeness.
‘And now, my dear wife, shall we have dinner? After which, I shall, of course, avail myself of your unparalleled generosity.
Or do I perhaps need your consent in writing first? No? Then—avanti!’In spite of some formidable past competition, it was quite the most difficult meal she had ever eaten in his company.
Except that she didn’t really eat it, but merely pushed the food round her plate as if doing so.
Angelo, however, much to her resentment, ate everything placed in front of him as though he did not have a care in the world, or a thought in his head besides the enjoyment of his cook’s delicious food.
Afterwards, in the salotto, he swallowed his coffee as if his throat was lined with asbestos, then offered her a smile which did not reach his eyes.
‘I think it is time to retire, carissima.
I shall inform your maid that her services will not be required tonight.
I look forward to joining you prima possibile.’‘As soon as possible.’ The loaded words tormented her all the way upstairs to her room.
She undressed and washed, before slipping into one of the chiffon and lace nightgowns provided in her trousseau.
Then, sitting at her dressing table, she began to brush her hair, just as she had done on her wedding night, seeking once again a tranquillity which was beyond her.
Maybe, she thought, swallowing, she should simply settle for courage instead.
Or at least the ability to conceal she was trembling inside.
She had just put the brush down and got to her feet when Angelo came noiselessly into the room, wearing his usual black silk robe.
He paused, looking her up and down, his mouth twisting.
‘Is it not a little late for such modesty?’ he asked ironically.
‘Particularly when your virginity is about to be sacrificed.’Colour burned in her face.
‘Please,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Please don’t say things like that.’‘Ah,’ he said.
‘I see.
You may treat me as if I were the dirt on your shoe, but I must still behave with consideration.
Is that it?’Ellie stood where she was, looking wretchedly down at the floor, and heard him sigh, quickly and sharply.
He said, ‘It is still not too late, Elena.
We can forget everything that has been said today—put the last months behind us, if you will come to me now as my bride on our marriage night.’ His voice was low and very gentle.
‘Trust me, mia cara, with your innocence and, this first time, give yourself to me completely so that we can remember it with joy for the rest of our lives.’Ellie walked to the bed, and slid under the covers, remembering with a stab of pain how Silvia’s hand had touched them in possession.
Had in the past touched him.
She kept her tone cool.
‘I think you have enough memories, signore.
I have no wish to add to your tally.’For a moment, he was very still.
When he spoke, his voice was harsh.
‘I shall not ask again.
Let it be as you wish.’He flung off the robe and got into bed beside her, propping himself on an elbow as he looked down at her.
He muttered what was undoubtedly an obscenity under his breath, then drew her towards him, under him, his hand stroking the skirts of her nightdress away from her body as he did so, before parting her thighs.
Eyes closed, Ellie experienced the first intimate touch of a man’s fingers.
She had quite deliberately made him angry, yet this initial exploration was gentler than she’d expected—or probably deserved—and she felt sudden shame mingled with another emotion, less easy to decipher.
Angelo sighed again, very quietly this time, and his other hand lifted to cup one small pointed breast through its veil of chiffon, his thumb moving softly, rhythmically against the nipple until Ellie pushed it fiercely away.
‘Don’t!’‘Carissima,’ he whispered urgently.
‘I am not some brute.
Must I be denied one caress—or even a kiss?’Yes, she thought, you must.
Because I want to be able to protect myself by hating you, so that I’ll never be tempted to allow you near me in any way or to want more than this.
But she said nothing and, after a brief hesitation, he reached for one of the pillows, and slid it under her hips, raising her towards him.
He lifted himself above her, and she felt the velvet hardness of him in stark and powerful arousal between her thighs, and a shiver of apprehension ran through her at what she had invited.
She thought wildly—This can’t happen.
It’s not possible.
Then Angelo moved unhurriedly and with great precision, taking himself there to the hidden centre of her womanhood and beginning slowly and carefully to enter her, resting his weight on his clenched fists on either side of her body.
She heard his terse whisper warning her to relax.
Yet there was no pain.
What disturbed her most was the total strangeness of the sensation—and the way her untried, unbidden flesh seemed so ready, even eager to yield in order to accommodate him and further his total possession of her.
She had not, she thought dazedly, bargained for that particular danger.
Although her eyes were still shut tight, some instinct told her that he was looking down at her, the dark gaze searching her face for signs of discomfort or fear, and she had to fight an almost overwhelming impulse to reassure him in some way.
To touch his face, or his hair, maybe even to slide her arms round his neck.
Which, of course, was sheer madness, but, then, nothing that was happening seemed to be real.
Except, she thought, for his body, which with one last measured thrust, was now completely sheathed inside hers.
His voice saying quietly, ‘Is it well with you, Elena? I need you to tell me.’And her whispered, ‘Yes.’In spite of everything, he was trying to be kind, she thought, bewildered, even as some female instinct she’d not known she possessed told her that, if she had let him, he could have been so much more than that.
He began to move inside her, gently at first, then more forcefully, withdrawing a little, then pushing back ever more deeply, awakening new and threatening feelings.
Making her realise with alarm she would have to fight her body’s wish to respond to the imperative drive of his loins as their force increased.
That there was an unfamiliar tide rising in her bloodstream, her bones, her skin, nudging at every atom of her consciousness that threatened to overwhelm her, urging her to lift her hips in answer to each warm and silken thrust.