The Forced Bride by Sara Craven Page B

of their honeymoon
    as a sign that she has pleased him. I wish you to wear it.’
    Her face flamed. ‘No way.’
    ‘Then I must insist. It will make your situation here much easier if it is thought that we make each other happy. Or that you
    make me happy.’ He looked at her mutinous expression and sighed. ‘Emilia, I have spared you the intimacies of marriage
    to me. Its formalities, however, you will endure, and this is one of them. Do I make myself clear Now put it on.’
    She acceded reluctantly, hoping that it would not fit. But the sapphire slid easily over her knuckle as if it had been made
    for her alone.
    ‘Are there any other degrading medieval customs I should know about’ she asked haughtily.
    ‘If I think of any, I will tell you.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to sleep.’ He added wryly, ‘You will not be disturbed again.’
    And left her.
    To her own astonishment, she fell asleep within minutes and it was nearly midday when she awoke next time.
    She bathed and dressed hastily, conscious all the time of the unfamiliar weight of the sapphire on her hand and its
    distasteful significance. And it took nearly all the courage she possessed to present herself downstairs, knowing she would
    be under scrutiny, however discreet.
    Raf’s butler, a stately individual called Gaspare, was waiting for her in the hall to conduct her out on to the terrace at the
    rear of the house where Raf was seated at a table under an awning.
    ‘Carissima.’ His voice was warm and filled with laughter as he got to his feet and came to her. Under Gaspare’s indulgent
    gaze, he took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it, then bent, brushing her cheek with his lips.
    It was the lightest of touches, but she flinched just the same and saw his eyes harden.
    ‘Another formality,’ he said softly, as he straightened. ‘Accustom yourself.’
    And she’d nodded, unable to speak.
    And formal was how their relationship had remained in every respect, for which she could only be grateful. True to his
    word, Raf had never visited her bedroom again, or attempted to make physical demands on her in any way.
    But that had been an easy promise to a girl who was too young and inexperienced to appeal to his sophisticated tastes
    anyway, she reminded herself tautly. Someone he’d been saddled with, simply because he owed her dying father.
    It occurred to her that, for a supposed honeymoon, there had been very little privacy, although Raf himself seemed
    unaware or uncaring of the fact that they were the cynosure of all eyes.
    Not that they were together that much, and she was thankful that the house and its gardens were vast enough for her to
    be able to make herself scarce most of the time. After all, she had the excuse that she was exploring her new
    surroundings.
    But there were times when she was obliged to be in his company and she found this a strain, conscious always of his cool
    politeness. At mealtimes in particular, because there were servants present, she struggled, trying to respond to his efforts
    to engage her in conversation and to smile back at him as if she was really the fulfilled and loving bride of everyone’s
    expectations.
    Perhaps the most successful times were the days when he took her into Rome with him, showing her all the usual tourist
    sights, but also allowing her a glimpse of his own city, the hidden side that the visiting swarms never saw.
    But she was relieved when the supposed honeymoon ended and she was able to fly back to Britain. Although even this
    had its awkward moment.
    Raf had ordered champagne on the flight and, when it came, he raised his glass in a toast to her.
    ‘I am proud of you,mia cara ,’ he told her quietly. ‘It cannot have been easy for you.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Emily did not look at him. ‘It wasn’t—that bad—in the end. And your house is wonderful,’ she added
    stiltedly. ‘But I’ll be glad to be home again and get back to normal life.’
    He was silent for a moment. ‘Do I