heaped with snowy pillows on which tiny sprigs of sweet lavender had been placed.
It was like a stage setting, thought Marisa, aware of a coyly significant glance from Evangelina. But contrary to the good woman’s expectations, the leading lady in this particular production would be sleeping there alone tonight, and for the foreseeable future.
The only other pieces of furniture were a long dressing table, with a stool upholstered in gold brocade, and a chaise longue covered in the same material, placed near the sliding glass doors which led onto the verandah.
On the opposite side of the room, a door opened into a bathroom tiled in misty green marble, with a shower that Marisa reckoned was as big as her cousin Julia’s box room.
Another door led to a dressing room like a corridor, lined with drawer units and fitted wardrobes, and at the far end this, in turn, gave access to another bedroom of a similar size, furnished in the same way as the first one except that the coverlet was striped in gold and ivory.
Presumably this was the room which Renzo would be using—at least for the time being, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry. And she was relieved to see that it, too, had its own bathroom.
Turning away hurriedly, she managed to smile at Evangelina and tell her that everything was wonderful—magnificent—to the housekeeper’s evident gratification.
Back in her own room, she began to open one of her suitcases but was immediately dissuaded by Evangelina, who indicated firmly that this was a job for Daniella, who would be overjoyed to wait upon the bride of Signor Lorenzo.
All this goodwill, Marisa thought with irony, as she followed the housekeeper to the salotto, where coffee was waiting. Yet how much of it would survive once it became clear to the household, as it surely would, that the bride of Signor Lorenzo was totally failing to live up to everyone’s expectations?
She’d braced herself for another silent interlude, but Renzo was quietly civil, showing her the charming terrace where most of their meals would be taken, and explaining how the rocky local terrain had obliged the large gardens to be built on descending levels, connected by steps and pathways, with a swimming pool and a sunbathing area constructed at the very bottom.
‘My godfather says the climb keeps him healthy,’ Renzo said, adding with faint amusement, ‘His wife has always claimed it is all part of a plot to kill her. But it does not, however, stop her using the pool every day.’
She looked over the balustrade down into the green depths. ‘Do you have the same plan, perhaps?’ It seemed worth carrying on the mild joke.
‘Why, no,’ Renzo drawled, his glance travelling over her. ‘You, mia bella, I intend to keep very much alive.’
I suppose I led with my chin there, thought Marisa, crossly aware she was blushing a little. And if he’s going to say things like that, I’d much rather he was silent again.
No one ate early in Italy, and she was used to that, but by the time dinner was eventually served the strain of the day was beginning to tell on her.
She was ruefully aware that she had not done justice to the excellence of Evangelina’s cooking, especially the sea bream which had formed the main course, and her lack of appetite was not lost on her companion.
‘You are not hungry? Or is there something you would prefer?’
‘Oh, no,’ she denied hurriedly. ‘The fish is wonderful. I’m just very tired—and I think I’m getting a headache,’ she added for good measure. ‘Perhaps you’d apologise to Evangelina for me—and excuse me.’
‘Of course.’ He rose politely to his feet. ‘Buona notte, mia cara.’
She walked sedately to the door, trying hard not to appear as if she was running away, but knowing he wouldn’t be fooled for a minute. But at least he’d let her go, and what conversation there’d been during the meal had been on general topics, avoiding the personal.
In her bedroom, she saw that the bed had been turned down on both sides, and that one of her trousseau nightgowns, a mere wisp of white crêpe de Chine, had been prettily arranged on the coverlet.
More scene-setting, she thought. But the day’s drama was thankfully over.
She had a warm, scented bath, and then changed into the nightgown that Daniella had left for her because there was little to choose between any of them. In fact all her trousseau, she thought, had been chosen with Renzo’s tastes in mind rather than hers.
Not that she knew his tastes—or wanted to—she amended quickly, but this diaphanous cobweb of a thing, with its narrow ribbon steps, would probably be considered to have general masculine appeal.
She climbed into the bed and sank back against the pillows, where the scent of lavender still lingered, aware of an odd sense of melancholy that she could neither dismiss or explain.
Sleep’s what I need, she told herself. Things will seem better in the morning. They always do.
She was just turning on her side when an unexpected sound caught her attention, and she shot upright again, staring towards the dressing room as its door opened and Renzo came in.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded huskily.
‘An odd question, mia bella, to put to your husband when he visits your bedroom on your wedding night.’
She sat rigidly against the pillows, watching him approach. He was wearing a black silk robe, but his bare chest, with its dark shadowing of hair, and his bare legs suggested that there was nothing beneath it.
She lifted her chin. ‘I—I said I was tired. I thought you accepted that.’
‘Also that you had a headache.’ He nodded. ‘And by now you have probably thought of a dozen other methods to keep me at a distance. I suggest you save them for the future. You will not, however, need them tonight,’ he added, seating himself on the edge of the bed.
It was a wide bed, and there was a more than respectable space between them, but in spite of that Marisa still felt that he was too close for comfort. She wanted to move away a little, but knew that he would notice and draw his own conclusions. And she did not wish him to think she was in any way nervous, she thought defensively.
As for what he was wearing—well, she’d seen him in far less in the past, when she’d been swimming or sunbathing in his company, but that, somehow, was a very different matter.
She marshalled her defences. ‘You still haven’t said why you’re here.’
He said, ‘I have come to bid you goodnight.’
‘You did that downstairs.’
‘But I believe that there are things that remain to be said between us.’
He paused. ‘We have not begun well, you and I, and these difficulties between us should be settled at once.’
‘What—what do you mean?’
He traced the gold thread on the coverlet with a fingertip. ‘Earlier today you implied that I had been less than ardent in my wooing of you. But if I stayed aloof it was only because I believed it was what
