you love Lorenzo. But I wanted you to be aware of my feelings for you. If in the future you should need a friend, I shall be there for you.’
Kathryn’s eyes filled with tears. He was kind and good and generous, and she had grown fond of him—but her heart was given to Lorenzo.
‘Damn you!’ Lorenzo said as Michael finished speaking. Three weeks had passed since his last visit to the villa, and Kathryn’s eyes had grown sadder with the days. ‘Who gave you the right to meddle in my affairs?’
‘Kathryn is your wife and she deserves better from you,’ Michael said. ‘As for what right I have—we have been friends for years. If anyone has the right to tell you that you are throwing away something precious and good, then it must be I, deny it as you will.’
‘You are in love with her yourself,’ Lorenzo accused, feeling a prick of jealousy as he saw the truth in Michael’s eyes.
‘If she did not love you—if you had not married her—I should have asked her to be my wife,’ Michael admitted.
‘She would be better as your wife, Michael. I was wrong to marry her—selfish. I cannot give her what she needs. I cannot, dare not, love her.’
‘Will you waste your life in bitterness?’ Michael asked, his eyes narrowed and angry. ‘I know that you suffered at that monster’s hand, but nothing can change that. It is over. You are rich and powerful. You have a chance of happiness with Kathryn—throw it away and you will live alone with your regret.’
‘You do not know what you ask,’ Lorenzo said. ‘If I love her…if I let go of what is inside me, I am nothing.’
‘Then you are nothing,’ Michael told him. ‘And I am sorry for you.’
Lorenzo watched as he walked away, going into the house. Anger raged inside him, but with the anger was remorse, for he knew that Michael was right, and he knew something more. The path he had chosen was the coward’s path. He was afraid to love Kathryn, afraid of what his life would be without her if he allowed himself to love her.
The stroke of an assassin’s knife could take her as it had almost taken Michael. And yet, what was his life now—was it worth the living?
Lorenzo faced the truth at last. The hatred had gone, driven out by Kathryn’s love. He had fought against her, but she was there inside him. It was love for her that had made him send Rachid’s son back to him—a love that he could no longer deny, try as he might.
But had he destroyed her love for him?
Kathryn was in her chamber going through her gowns with Lisa. She looked round as the maid suddenly bobbed a curtsy and left the room, her heart beating wildly as she saw him. It was odd, but he had lost that cold angry look which had haunted her for weeks.
‘Lorenzo?’ She looked at him, her throat tight, unable to trust her senses. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Have I made you hate me, Kathryn?’
‘I could never hate you. Do you not know how much I love you?’ She looked at him, her heart in her eyes, no pleading or reproaches, but simple love.
‘You should hate me for the way I have treated you these past weeks,’ he said. ‘But I beg you to forgive me. It was because of Michael. I did not sense that Maria was there that night. Always, I have known when I was in danger of being attacked. It was a sixth sense, an awareness that has saved my life many times. I felt that in letting myself love you I was losing that part of me—and I was afraid. It might have been you whom Maria attacked. I have enemies, Kathryn. There may be others who would seek to harm me through you—and I was afraid that if I loved you, if I let myself soften, I might become weak and be unable to protect you.’
‘Lorenzo…’ Tears sprang to her eyes as she moved towards him. ‘I thought you blamed me—had turned against me…’
‘I do love you,’ he said. ‘But it is not easy for me to admit it or to show it. You accused me of being harsh, and it is true. I have had to be hard, to be ruthless. It is the only way I could live. But perhaps I could change, perhaps there is another way to live. I must keep my promise to fight with the Holy League, but I think…I have no heart to continue my feud with Rachid. It is not that I have forgiven him, but…it no longer seems important.’
‘My love.’ Kathryn moved closer, putting her arms about him. She laid her head against his chest as after a moment’s hesitation, his arms closed about her. They stood in silence for several minutes, just holding each other, his lips against her hair. ‘We could go home to England. My father would welcome us there. You could begin a new life.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ he said and smiled oddly as she looked up at him. ‘Once the Holy League has fought its battle with the Turks, these seas will be a much safer place. I might perhaps continue to trade in fine wines, Kathryn—but I do not think that I shall need to be constantly at war as I have been these last years.’
‘I am so glad that you have told me what was in your heart,’ she said, lifting her face for his kiss, which was sweet and tender, concealing the fires beneath. ‘I have been so unhappy—I thought that I had lost you.’
His eyes were dark with self-condemnation. ‘Forgive me, Kathryn. I was a brute to you…’
She placed a finger to his lips. ‘No more. I understand. I have always understood what drove you, my love. Come, let us go down and walk in the gardens. We must make the most of our time together, for Michael tells me that you plan to leave soon.’
‘I fear I must,’ Lorenzo said. ‘The fleet is gathering and my galleys are a big part of what is to happen—but we have a few days, my love.’
She held her hand out to him and he took it. ‘Then I am content,’ she said, looking up at him with eyes that told their own story. ‘Your love is all I want, Lorenzo.’
Kathryn turned in her husband’s arms, feeling the warmth and strength of his body. He had hurt her so desperately, but she was ready to forgive and to love, for she understood that he had been in turmoil. She would never quite understand what drove him, for only someone who had suffered as he had could know what he felt, but she loved and that was enough. She was his wife, his woman, and at last, she believed his love. From the first she had sensed that they belonged together, and it was this deep instinct that had carried her throughout the uncertain days. She belonged to Lorenzo and, whatever came between them, that bond would always hold her.
His arms went round her, drawing her close, his hands stroking the slender arch of her back, caressing her, arousing her to passion. She gave herself up to the urgency of their loving. So much time had been wasted and they had so little left. His kisses brought her to a sweet ecstasy that consumed them both in the fires of love, and then at last, satiated and content, they slept in each other’s arms.
And when Lorenzo woke with the dawn, he lay looking down at her lovely face, drinking in her beauty, absorbing every detail into his mind so that he would carry it with him in the weeks and perhaps months ahead when they would be apart.
Kathryn kissed Lorenzo, a long, sweet, lingering kiss that almost tore her heart from her body, and then stood back, letting him go. She knew that it might be many months before she saw him again, but it was the price she had to pay.
Lorenzo had paid his own price in loving
