Scandalous Secret, Defiant Bride, page 18
‘I am your husband, Christina, not a visitor,’ he reproached gently, feeling the need to remind her since she was apt to forget it. Warm lights shone in his eyes and he spoke quietly as his gaze swept over her, unconsciously memorising the way she looked, all flushed and fresh and alluring. In the time since he had last seen her she had become a woman, all soft, lovely, eternally female, with a vitality that could not be hidden. ‘And you look fine to me. I assure you that dress becomes you perfectly.’
Her flush deepened with embarrassment and she began to walk slowly on. ‘Thank you. I’ll take your word for it. I wake early most mornings. I always think this is the best part of the day. It’s such a shame to miss it.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. How are you settling in?’
She gave him a sprightly smile. ‘Very well.’
A rakish grin spread lazily across his mouth. ‘You seem to have suffered no ill effects from your time spent fending for yourself—no scars that I can see—no bruises.’ Taking her slender fingers into his, he made a show of examining her carefully tended nails, while Christina watched in amusement before disentangling her hands from his grasp.
‘As you see, Max, I have suffered nothing but a couple of broken nails that will soon grow back.’
‘I am relieved to hear it. And you still like the house?’
‘Oh, yes. It really is appropriately named—the house in the sun. Every morning the sun rises behind it and bathes the valley in warm light, and in the evening it passes over the house, setting beyond the hills. Carmel is an absolute treasure. And Elsa and Lucia are quite excited by my being here and are always coming and going on some pretext or other.’
‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, I like having them around.’
‘You sent the servants back? Why?’
‘Because Molly and I can manage.’
‘You can?’
She smiled. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m not completely useless. I am quite capable of dressing myself and tidying up, and Molly, who has fallen in love with Italian food, has taken over the kitchen completely—once she got the stove to work. Carmel is a wonderful help and is teaching Molly how to cook. The language is posing a problem, but we are both determined to learn Italian.’
‘Very sensible. It will help you to communicate.’
They walked on a little way and then she said, ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about Lydia since I came here—indeed, how can I not when I am living in the house she came to as a bride and her things are all around me? Tell me about my grandfather. Did he buy Casa del Sole?’
‘Yes, he did. It was nothing more than a rundown old farmhouse when he saw it, but he knew he had to have it—he fell in love with it—it was the first thing he’d ever owned that had nothing to do with his family. He bought it with the money he got from his paintings and completely rebuilt the place. It was also the perfect place for him to paint.’
‘I’ve seen some of them—there are several unfinished canvases left in his studio.’
‘And were you impressed when you saw them?’
‘Yes. I expected to see poor, amateurish art, but what I have seen is very good. I didn’t believe a painter would live in such a remote place. Do you know where he came from?’
‘I believe his family lived in Rapallo—in the north.’
‘Were they rich?’
‘Very. His family owned a marble quarry in Carrara. The white marble is considered the purest marble in the world and they had been dealing in it for centuries. Luciano was the youngest of three sons and two daughters and he had no desire to join the family business. He went to school in Genoa and then on to Paris to be an artist—a very good one too, but not good enough for his name to go down in history.’
‘Did he love my grandmother?’
‘They were devoted to each other, and she loved the house as much as he did—which you know.’
‘What did she say when you returned from England without me? Was she angry—upset, what?’
‘She—was disappointed, but it was overcome by the knowledge that she would meet you eventually.’ He stopped and looked at her, his expression serious. ‘She has been asking after you. There are so many things she wants to talk to you about. You really should go and see her, Christina. In fact, I must insist that you do.’
‘I intend to. As I walk about the house I see things—little things—a small stain on the carpet in the room that was probably made by Roberto—ink, I think, and a scratch on the table in the room that was his. I think to myself—he did that, my father, the man I never knew and never will.’
Max grinned. ‘Ask Elsa. She’ll talk about him till the cows come home.’
‘I know and she does—all the time, but I want to know him in a way Elsa could never describe. I want to know him as a child would know its mother—as I knew my mother. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I know what you are saying, Christina, but, never having known my own mother, it is difficult for me to understand fully.’
Christina was ashamed of her insensitivity. ‘Of course, Max. Please forgive me. I forgot. It was not my intention to upset you.’ They walked on in silence and then Christina said, ‘I enjoyed meeting Guy. He seems nice. Does he live very close to you?’
‘His estate adjoins my own.’
‘He grows grapes?’ Max nodded. ‘How interesting. I didn’t expect to find an Englishman owning a vineyard.’
‘It was his father who bought it. When Guy’s mother died, his father succumbed to the seductive dream to escape London life to a haven of sunny contentment.’
‘So he bought a vineyard in the Chianti hills.’
‘That’s right, even though he could not speak the language and had no experience in growing grapes, but he won through in the end and now Villa Candido is a vineyard to be proud of.’ He slanted her a sideways look. ‘You say you enjoyed meeting Guy—but, it would seem, not Francesca.’
‘No. To be blunt, Max, I did not like her at all and I sincerely hope any meetings between the two of us in the future are infrequent and of short duration.’
Max’s face became taut and he looked straight ahead. ‘You always were forthright, Christina. I owe a great deal to Francesca’s father. When my father died and then my grandfather, Don Stefano Cantoni, Francesca’s father, of all my neighbours, was the one person who came to my assistance. He moved from Sicily to Tuscany forty years ago. His family still live there. He is a good man, a fair man, for whom I have tremendous respect. As for Francesca—I have known her all her life.’
‘And naturally she has loved you all her life.’
‘Perhaps not as long as that.’
‘But she does now.’
‘In truth, I don’t know. One never does with Francesca.’
Christina was silent. She was only just beginning to discover she knew nothing about Max’s life before he had gone to England. She wanted to ask what his feelings were for Francesca, but held back. She didn’t want to know, for the truth might upset her too much. Emerging from the deep shadows cast by the olive trees, she waved to Molly, who was setting the table for breakfast on the patio beneath trellising interlaced with trailing plants.
‘I think breakfast is ready. Have you eaten? If not, perhaps you would like to join us.’ She laughed lightly. ‘Although I can’t promise it will be anything as appetising as what you’re used to. Molly was up early cooking some kind of sweet cakes and she has yet to perfect the recipe. Still, I suppose, spread liberally with butter and jam they will be palatable.’
‘I’m sure they will be very nice. I take my hat off to Molly for having a go at something different, and, yes, thank you, I would love to join you—at least some coffee would be welcome.’
Molly was pleased there was a guest to eat her sweet cakes—a triumph after several failures. After serving them breakfast, she tactfully disappeared back to the kitchen with the excuse that she wanted to see what else she could concoct now Carmel had arrived to advise her on more delectable dishes.
A warm breeze had sprung up to set astir the slumbering countryside. A bougainvillaea trailing over the trellising threw a violent purple stain against the house, provided them some shade, but Christina enjoyed the gentle caress of the warming air. Sitting in her wicker chair across from Max at the table and feeling totally relaxed and at home as she sipped her coffee, she thought he had a similar ease about him. She saw his eyes grow more vividly blue as he seemed to follow her train of thought.
‘I hate to say this, since I would do almost anything to prise you out of this house, but this place suits you,’ he said quietly, his gaze settling on her face, strikingly aware of all the endearing qualities that had so intrigued and appealed to him when he had first set eyes on her in England.
‘I know.’ She gave him a wistful smile. ‘I like the solitude. Suddenly my life has become increasingly simple, filled with small tasks that fill me with a sense of well being—getting up in the morning and sitting on the patio drinking my first cup of coffee with Molly, watering the potted plants and strolling through the olive groves. Even the cat’s taken to me at last. It follows me closely on my evening walks, always stalking birds and lizards. At night the terraces around the house are alive with bats, and sometimes there are fireflies floating among the vines, looking like illuminated galleons floating in a sea of darkness.’
‘You’re beginning to sound like a proper Tuscan, Christina.’
‘I will never be that, no matter how long I live here. I do wonder what my parents would make of all this. I like to think they are happy for me and wish me well. I shall be eternally grateful for all they did for me.’
‘No doubt they will come for a visit very soon.’
‘Yes, I am sure they will.’
She stared across the table at the handsome, forceful, dynamic man, and the moment seemed to freeze in time. ‘I do know that I can’t remain here at the house for ever, Max. I would like to see more of the area. In fact, I would very much like a horse—and a pony to pull a cart I found in the barn. It would be useful for Molly to go to the shops and the market in the village to purchase provisions.’
‘Leave it to me. I’ll see to it.’
‘Would you? Thank you. I would appreciate that. At home in England I was pampered all my life and unable to do anything without having to explain myself. But now that I am tasting the novelty of doing just as I please—’
‘Within reason, I hope,’ Max remarked, his penetrating blue eyes reminded her of her position.
‘But of course. I would not do anything to embarrass you.’
‘It is good that you should get to know the place where you live and learn to see it through your own eyes.’ He smiled. ‘I am biased about the charm and beauty of the place, and I fervently hope that you too will fall in love with it and never want to leave—Tuscany, I mean, not Casa del Sole, since this is only a temporary arrangement.’
‘I know that. I realise the honeymoon period can’t last. I can’t go on living like a peasant for ever. Although I believe I’ve already fallen in love with Tuscany,’ she said, smiling back at him and realising with surprise that it was true.
‘Despite our unsatisfactory living arrangements, I am impatient to show you Castello Marchesi. Since it is to be your home, the sooner you familiarise yourself with everything, the better. My winery is located right inside the castle, which I am sure you will find interesting.’
‘Yes, thank you, Max, I would love to.’
Placing his cup on the table, Max rose and stretched his long, lean body. ‘I’d best be getting back. Thank you for the breakfast, Christina. Since you would like to see more of the area we will make a start by riding into the village this evening.’
‘But I don’t have a horse yet.’
‘I’ll bring a spare—and my stables might even run to a pony.’
‘It would be wonderful if you could—if not, I think I’ll have to take up Lucio’s offer of the loan of his donkey. It’s a stubborn old beast, according to Carmel and I don’t think it appeals to Molly.’
‘I think we can do better than that. I’ll call for you this evening.’
Christina stood up and watched him walk to where he had tethered his horse and waved when he rode on his way. She was aware that Molly had come to stand beside her, and that she too stood watching Max’s retreating figure. They were both silent for a few moments, easy with each other. The special friendship that had sprung up between them was as vital and natural as a friendship could be, and Molly understood Christina like no other.
‘Well, that was a surprise—Count Marchesi turning up for breakfast like that.’
Christina’s smile was one of quiet satisfaction. ‘No, really. I fully expected him to come some time. Although knowing how he is noted for his impatience, I’m only surprised he left it so long.’ She smiled, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. ‘I think he was hoping I’d weaken and go to him. It must have put him out that I didn’t. He’ll be back later—early evening he said. He’s going to show me the area and then we’ll ride into the village.’
‘And how will you be going, might I ask? By carriage? Or riding that flea-bitten old donkey that does nothing but bray all night?’ Molly complained.
‘No, riding.’
‘Then we must see you wear your finest habit.’
Christina was ready when Max arrived, riding a beautiful muscled sorrel horse and leading a grey mare and a shaggy-haired pony, which he handed to Pepi to deal with.
Max watched Christina come out of the house, a look of unconcealed appraisal on his face as he surveyed her jaunty burgundy habit and white shirt exposed beneath her open jacket. She had decided against a hat and had fastened her hair at her nape with a ribbon to match her habit, letting her dark tresses fall free.
He studied her, tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the brush of lustrous ebony eyelashes. She was quite extraordinarily lovely. He had never seen the like of her. Even now she had that untamed quality that had first attracted him to her, running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface, a wild freedom of spirit that found its counterpart in himself.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her to the horse.
‘It’s a change to have the opportunity to dress up—and to ride. Goodness, I’ve missed it,’ she said, stroking her horse’s nose in appreciation.
‘It’s a lovely evening,’ Max remarked when they were mounted. ‘We’ll take the long way to the village to enable you to see something of the countryside.’
The evening air was sweet scented as they set off. Christina felt wonderfully happy. Everything seemed different when Max was around. She felt happy and carefree as she had not felt in a long time, and reckless—unwisely so, for it would be so easy to give way to recklessness with a man like Max.
He took her on a tour round the vineyards, riding along a labyrinth of paths and tracks open to anyone who wished to use them, sending up a cloud of dust in their wake. He told her about the different grapes that were grown, which grapes made the best wine, how they were harvested and how the Etruscans and Romans and the Medici family and numerous noblemen in Tuscany throughout the centuries had created one of the most recognised wine-producing areas in the world. He answered Christina’s interminable questions with knowledge and pleasure, clearly in love with his work.
The village was an enchanting place perched on a hillside, its streets winding and narrow and its towers rising above orange-tiled houses. The piazza, the village’s main square, was small, but like other villages it had the church—a baroque church built in sandstone, small and austere with a heavy carved door. The whole of the village seemed to have gathered there.
‘Goodness! I never expected there would be so many people out at this time.’
‘It’s the same every night, in towns and villages all over Italy, when the people come out for a stroll—la passeggiata, in and around the piazza—to gather and converse with friends.’
They rode round the edge of the piazza. Christina was engrossed in the scene before her, then slowly she felt a tension evolve inside her. Max was riding so close because of the throng that their horses were almost touching. She was aware of his closeness. His hands holding the reins were brown and strong, the nails cut short. He leaned forwards slightly and the back of his neck was exposed, brown like his hands, his dark hair brushed crisp and smooth into his nape. His back was broad and strong, the seams of his jacket stretched tight, and where it fell open she could see his thighs gripping his horse, muscled and taut beneath the smooth fabric of his breeches.
‘I think I would like to get down and walk,’ she said, her voice low, for her thoughts had alarmed her.
‘Good idea.’
Max jumped down and assisted her, tethering their mounts to a rail. As the large number of villagers idling about the square greeted them, Christina, aware that she was collecting glances as she moved among them, realised that Max was accorded every deference. She heard him call out to several in his own language. The locals were obviously interested in his English wife. It unnerved Christina to see how they paused in their conversations to stand or sit and stare at her. It was as if she was an object of curiosity in her stylish western dress.
‘Come,’ Max said, placing his hand under her elbow, ‘I think some refreshment is called for. A glass of wine is the nectar of the gods. It is generally consumed as part of a meal, but a glass sipped during twilight in good company for pleasure’s sake is also part of the Italian tradition.’
‘Then how can I possibly refuse when you put it like that?’
‘You can’t—and I would be mortally offended if you did,’ he teased.
He led her to some tables outside a restaurant. Immediately the restaurant owner came to their table and greeted Max effusively. There were polite exchanges between them in Italian. Max ordered the wine and then sat back to wait, resting his foot on his opposite knee, his eyes settling on his companion.
Voices echoed and bounced around the square. A mandolin could be heard above the noise of the crowd and a male voice began to sing. Some of the men sat around tables, talking and playing cards. Reaching inside his jacket, Max leisurely withdrew a silver case and took out a small cigar. Immediately the owner struck a sulphur match and lit it for him and then poured them both a glass of wine. Max turned the glass in his hand, studying the deep red wine, then he took a long swallow and lowered his glass.
