it?’ said Floriana, but her voice was flat as she shut the door and Angie turned round, her eyes narrowing with concern.
‘Floriana, is…is something wrong?’
There was a pause as the girl raked long olive fingers through her fringe, dislodging a diamond pin in the process but ignoring it as the precious clip clattered to the floor. And eventually, like someone who had finally thrown in the towel, she nodded. ‘I can’t marry Aldo,’ she breathed. ‘I just can’t do it!’
Realising that the girl was trembling, Angie walked over to her and put her arm round her shoulders, thinking how bony and birdlike they felt. ‘Listen—every bride gets nerves,’ she soothed, realising that she was echoing what Riccardo had told her. And you didn’t believe him, did you? ‘It’s perfectly natural.’
‘No!’ Distractedly, Floriana moved away. ‘It isn’t that, believe me. People keep telling me it’s nerves, but it’s not. I’ve allowed myself to get into a situation which should never have happened. I feel as if I’ve sleep-walked my way into a nightmare. Angie, I can’t go through with it!’
Angie stared at her uncomprehendingly. ‘But why are you telling me all this?’
Dark brown eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly. ‘Because you are an outsider.’
Angie flinched.
‘And you must be a sensible woman to have been employed by Riccardo for all these years. You will not tell me what you think I should hear. You will tell me what I must do.’
‘That’s too big a responsibility,’ Angie protested, shaking her head.
‘Please.’
‘What about your brothers?’ questioned Angie. ‘Can’t you confide your fears in them?’
‘In them? You have to be joking. They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’ said Floriana bitterly. ‘They are nothing but tyrants!’
There was a long pause while Angie considered what to say. But Angie knew she couldn’t look into the frightened eyes of a woman panicking on almost the eve of her wedding, and pretend that everything would be all right in the morning.
‘And does Aldo—the Duca—does he know how you feel?’
‘I’ve tried speaking to him but he will not listen,’ whispered Floriana. ‘His mind is set on this wedding. He would never allow it to be cancelled. Every time I say something it is as if I have not spoken at all. For I am his trophy bride—his innocent virgin—or so he thinks.’
Angie’s eyes narrowed with comprehension as she realised what Floriana had just told and its possible implications for the future. Was purity an essential factor in this marriage? Remembering what Riccardo had said about his own desire to marry a virgin, she supposed it was.
‘Are you afraid to go through with the wedding because you think that your sexual experience will disappoint your husband—is that it, Floriana? Because I’m sure if you explained—’
‘No.’ Floriana’s stark word interrupted her. ‘That is not the reason why. The reason is much more simple that that, Angie—you see…’ She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. ‘I simply do not love him—not the way a woman should love the man she is about to marry.’
For a moment Angie said nothing—because what could she say? And yet—did the words come as a great surprise to her? No, of course not. You would need to be blind not to have noticed the lack of chemistry between the engaged couple. Gently, she placed her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Then you must have the courage to tell him that,’ she whispered. ‘You must.’
Leaving Floriana sitting on the bed, Angie somehow managed to find her way back to her own bedroom without having to return to the party. Stripping off the red gown, she washed off all her make-up before climbing into bed, bone-tired now, the comfort of the soft bed soothing her troubled senses as she lay there worrying about the outcome of Floriana’s revelation.
Should she tell Riccardo? As she lay there in the darkness Floriana’s disconcerting words came flooding back to her. ‘They are so keen for this marriage that I suspect they would march me down the aisle!’
Would he really go that far? Somehow she doubted it. But would Romano?
Her mind buzzed uncomfortably but the long and emotional day had worn her out and she must have dozed off, because when she awoke it was to the sensation of a warm, naked male getting into bed beside her and then a mouth edging luxuriously over her breast.
‘Riccardo?’ she murmured sleepily.
‘Why, were you expecting someone else?’
‘I…oh!’
‘Oh, what, piccola?’
‘I must…’ Struggling against the blissful sensation of his tongue trailing a warm, sensual path over her bare skin, Angie’s hands moved up to his shoulders. ‘Riccardo—I must talk to you.’
‘Not now.’
‘But—’
‘I said, not now,’ he growled. ‘I have been wanting to do this all night.’
She told herself that there was no point in bringing up a contentious subject when it was past midnight and nothing could possibly be done. That she would tell him in the morning—in the cold clear light of day. But wasn’t some of her reasoning bound up in the fact that he was now kissing her, and she couldn’t prevent herself from sinking into that kiss? So that he became the central focus of her world and in that moment nothing outside it existed?
Dreamily, Angie tangled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back as he began to make slow, sweet love to her—the feel of his body deep inside hers washing away everything except pleasure itself. Afterwards their lips stayed touching—locked in a lazy kind of kiss—and with a jolt Riccardo remembered back to earlier, when they were dancing. Thinking just how much he wanted to kiss her. Kiss her? In the darkness, his eyes snapped open. This was getting dangerous. Crazy.
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