The Italian's Rightful Bride - By Lucy Gordon Page 0,26
contrition had been welcome, but it hadn’t wiped out the memory of their quarrel when she’d seen a side of him that had shocked her—a man who demanded his own way as a right, who could be coldly autocratic to anyone who dared defy him.
She supposed it was inevitable in his position, but it was new to her, and it made her realise that she’d had a lucky escape.
She really would like to consult the British Museum, although it was perhaps less urgent than she’d made it sound. She spent three days there, hard at work. Every evening she called Billy, ready to return at once if he seemed less than happy. But his cheerful voice always reassured her.
‘How is Gustavo?’ she asked politely on the third evening.
‘He’s a bit worked up at the moment,’ Billy observed. ‘I think he’s got shares in an airline.’
‘Shares in an…? Billy, what are you talking about?’
‘They’re all on strike. Every airport in the country is closed down.’
‘Oh, yes, I think I saw something on the news last night. Poor Gustavo. He does have bad luck. Is he around for me to talk to?’
‘No, he’s out for the evening.’
‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter.’
For the evening or for the night? she wondered as she hung up.
But it was no concern of hers.
The following afternoon she returned to the hotel, hot, tired and eager for a shower. A strand of hair flopped over her forehead and she knew she looked far from her best. As she collected her messages the receptionist said, ‘There’s a gentleman waiting to see you.’
In the heartbeat before she turned to see him Joanna knew who she wanted it to be more than anyone in the world.
He had risen as she came in, and stood quietly watching her, an uncertain smile on his face. Joanna walked towards him, passionately glad to see him.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘How do you come to be here?’
‘I happened to have business in London.’
‘What a coincidence that we should both stay here.’
He shrugged. ‘I always stay here, and I guessed that you might, so I asked at the desk.’
‘So the airports are open again?’
‘I’ve no idea. They were closed yesterday, so I took the train.’
‘All that way by train? Why, it must take—’
‘Twenty-eight hours.’
‘Your business must be very urgent.’
He nodded, not taking his eyes from her. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘It is.’
She made no answer. It mattered too much for words.
A sudden awkwardness overtook them both. The moment wasn’t right.
He glanced at the books she was carrying. ‘From the museum?’
‘Yes, I treated myself in the museum shop.’
‘They look heavy. May I carry them up for you?’
She relinquished them to him. Together they went to the lift, then up to her suite.
‘I need a drink,’ she said, kicking off her shoes. ‘Who’d think you could get so tired just looking at manuscripts?’
‘Paperwork,’ he agreed. ‘Guaranteed to give you a headache.’
They were talking about nothing to gain time and space. Now that their first greeting was over she was disconcerted at the sight of him. This wasn’t the man whose body she’d clasped through the mud, or the arrogant autocrat who had antagonised her. He looked desperately weary, like someone who’d already absorbed too many blows and was tensed for more. He confirmed it when she asked what he wanted to drink and he asked for a whisky, which she’d never seen him with before.
He downed it in one and said heavily, ‘I lied to you. I knew you were here. I asked Billy.’
‘He didn’t tell me that.’
‘I swore him to secrecy. I said I wanted to surprise you, and he mustn’t spoil it.’
‘I’ll bet he loved that, the little monkey.’
‘Yes, he did. I envy you. What a son to have!’
She remembered that his own son wasn’t his son at all, but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t sound insultingly trivial.
‘Another drink?’ she asked gently.
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t. I’m going to ask you to dinner, so I’d better keep a clear head.’
‘Like I’m an ogre?’ she said lightly. ‘Forget it. We’ll eat here and I’ll be the host.’
‘Thank you.’ He held out his glass and she poured him another whisky.
‘I lied about having business too,’ he admitted. ‘I just followed you. I couldn’t bear it that you went away angry with me, even though I deserved it.’
‘I wasn’t angry—’ she began, but he interrupted her quickly.
‘Yes, you were, and you were right. I behaved abominably.’
‘I don’t think you were abominable,’ she said, although she’d been thinking exactly