THE ITALIAN DUKE’S WIFE Read online

  "The designer has himself selected several gowns for

  your consideration, and they have been couriered here

  from Milano."

  They were being left in no doubt as to the great

  honour being bestowed on them, Jodie reflected, but

  she had to admit that it was equally obvious that the

  direttrice was very impressed by Lorenzo.

  She turned to look anxiously at Jodie and then exhaled

  slightly. "Bene, your fiance.e is not tall, it is true,

  but she has the right slenderness for our clothes. If

  you will come with me…"

  "I am afraid that I have several business appointments

  I must keep," Lorenzo apologised. "But I know

  I can leave my fiance.e safely in your hands. I shall

  return for her in two hours."

  The direttrice looked disappointed, but resigned,

  whilst Jodie watched Lorenzo leave and told herself

  that it was ridiculous for her to feel somehow abandoned.

  She was taken to a private room, where she perched

  on a small gilt chair as label-clad acolytes reverently

  presented her with a selection of wedding gowns from

  what she understood from the direttrice was the very

  latest collection.

  Jodie was no designer label junkie, but these were

  very special, and she was forced to admit that she

  was in danger of losing her heart to them all. But in

  the end there could only be one choice, and she made

  it, rebelliously selecting a gown that was in fact a

  tightly fitting corset bodice with an elegantly draped

  skirt that fitted it so perfectly it looked as though it

  were actually a dress and not two pieces.

  The direttrice beamed her approval.

  "Yes, that is the one I would have chosen for you.

  It is very simple, but very elegant, very regal — truly

  a wedding gown for a princess. We have guessed your

  size from the Duce’s description of you. So many

  times a man tells us one thing and we discover…"

  She gave a small resigned shrug. "But fortunately the

  Duce was correct."

  Half an hour later, Jodie faced her own reflection

  in the mirror. A young woman who was almost a

  stranger to her looked back. Jodie blinked and felt her

  eyes blur with emotional tears. If only her parents,

  her mother, could have seen her dressed like this. The

  gown made her look taller, and emphasised her tiny

  waist. A fitted lace jacket with three-quarter sleeves

  concealed any bare flesh. The train was so long and

  so heavy that Jodie worried that she wouldn’t be able

  to manage it.

  "It is perfect for you," the direttrice sighed ecstatically.

  "The maestro will be so pleased. Now, for the

  other things you will need…"

  It was another hour before the direttrice finally declared

  herself satisfied, by which time Jodie had been

  provided with a deliciously curvy suit that could be

  dressed up for evening or worn more simply during

  the daytime, along with a selection of tops to go with

  it, two pairs of impossibly flatteringly cut trousers, a

  summer-weight coat with a matching skirt, two pretty

  silky dresses, plus shoes and handbags, and what

  seemed like an enormous amount of "everyday

  things", as the direttrice had called them, from the

  designer"s more casual jeans-based range. The only

  way she could assuage her guilt over such blatant

  consumerism would be to insist that Lorenzo made

  good his promise to make a charity donation equivalent

  to the cost of her new clothes, Jodie reflected.

  She was just beginning to get tired, and felt relieved

  when the door to the private room opened and

  Lorenzo walked in.

  "You have everything you need?" he asked her.

  Jodie nodded her head.

  Thanking the direttrice, who promised that those

  items that were in need of small alterations would be

  delivered to the apartment by the following afternoon,

  Lorenzo ushered her back out onto the now dark

  street.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "Very," Jodie admitted.

  "There is a restaurant a short distance from here

  where they serve simple but excellent local food."

  The restaurant was down a narrow street, its tables

  set out on the pavement, and they had to edge their

  way to one of the few tables that was empty.

  "If you would like me to recommend something for

  you?" Lorenzo offered once they were seated and the

  waiter had brought menus.

  "Yes, please — but nothing too heavy," Jodie begged

  him, "otherwise I won’t be able to sleep."

  "Very well, then. Perhaps not the affettati misti to

  start with, which is a traditional selection of cold

  meats, but instead pinzimonio, which is fresh vegetables

  with olive oil?"

  "That sounds perfect," Jodie agreed.

  "Then, if it will not be too heavy for you, you

  should try the lasagne al forno — it is a speciality of

  Florence and like no other lasagne you will ever have

  tasted," he assured her.

  Smiling, Jodie nodded her head. "What are you going

  to have?" she asked him.

  "I shall start with the affettati misti and then I think

  calamari in zimino — stewed squid," he explained, and

  Jodie pulled a face.

  All around them other diners were talking and

  laughing, whole families eating together, Jodie noticed

  slightly enviously. Her only family were her

  cousin David and his wife Andrea, and though she

  and David had always got on well, there was a nine-

  year gap between them. David had already been married

  when her parents had been killed, and his parents—

  her father"s brother and his wife — had returned

  to her aunt"s home country of Canada.

  "Tomorrow morning I have arranged for us to visit

  my bank," Lorenzo was telling her. "There are some

  papers there it is necessary for you to sign. I have

  opened a bank account for you, and the family betrothal

  ring is in the bank"s vaults, along with certain

  other pieces of jewellery. The ring will have to be

  cleaned, and possibly resized — although, like you, my

  mother had very slender fingers."

  Their first course had arrived, but Jodie discovered

  that she had lost her appetite a little.

  "what’s wrong?" Lorenzo asked her.

  "I Don’t feel happy about the idea of wearing a

  valuable piece of jewellery," she told him truthfully.

  "Especially not some kind of family heirloom. What

  if I were to lose it?"

  "I am the head of my family and you are to be my

  bride. It will be expected that you will wear the family

  betrothal ring," Lorenzo told her firmly.

  "couldn’t you have a copy made or something?"

  Jodie persisted.

  Lorenzo started to frown. "If it concerns you so

  much, then I shall think about it. Now, eat your dinner—

  otherwise Carlo will think that you do not like

  his food, and to a Florentine that is a very great insult."


  The next morning Lorenzo allowed Jodie a little more

  time to gaze in awe at her surroundings as they

  walked through the city to his bank. She was wearing

  some of her new clothes — an outfit she had privately

  labelled Roman Holiday, because it comprised a pair

  of linen Capri pants in a mixture of creams and tans

  that sat low on her hips, teamed with a plain tan top.

  Woven wedges with tan ties and a quirky little bag

  completed the outfit, to which Jodie had been forced

  by the bright morning sunshine to add her own sunglasses.

  Although she was too engrossed in her surroundings

  to be aware of the admiring male glances she

  was collecting, Lorenzo most certainly wasn’t.

  Remembered bitterness darkened his eyes. Women

  were too vulnerable to the flattery of other men and

  their own egos, as he already knew. But it didn’t matter

  to him how many other men found Jodie desirable,

  did it? He had no feelings for her, and nor was he

  going to allow himself to develop any.

  "This way."

  Lorenzo’s curt instruction reminded Jodie of how

  much she disliked and resented his arrogance. She felt

  nothing but pity for the poor woman who did eventually

  become his "real" wife, she decided.

  Nowadays Florence might be famous for its works

  of art, but there had been a time when its fame had

  rested on the reputation of its bankers — of whom the

  Medici family had been members, Jodie remembered

  as they stepped into the cool, cathedral-like sombreness

  of Lorenzo’s bank.

  The formalities appertaining to the opening of a

  bank account for her were soon dealt with, allowing

  them to be taken down a marble stairway to an impressive

  pillared and gilded room patrolled by two

  armed guards. They were given a key and escorted to

  one of several small private rooms, furnished with a

  table and several chairs. Here they had to wait for the

  vault manager and one of the armed guards to return

  with a locked safety deposit box, which was put on

  the desk in front of Lorenzo. He then produced a key

  and inserted it into the lock. Only then did the manager

  and the guard leave them to lock themselves in

  the small room.

  Only the hum of the air-conditioning broke the silence

  as Lorenzo turned the key. She was, Jodie discovered,

  actually holding her breath.

  Lorenzo lifted the lid of the box. Quickly Jodie

  looked away. She had very mixed feelings about old

  and priceless jewellery. For one thing, it always

  seemed to possess a dark and tainted history — if not

  because of the way it had been mined, then often

  because of the acts of cruelty and greed of those people

  who had wanted to possess it. No wonder priceless

  stones were so often said to be cursed.

  Lorenzo looked down into the box. The last time

  it had been opened had been following the death of

  his mother. He had a savage impulse to slam the lid

  shut, to take Jodie by the hand and to go out into the

  bright warmth of the sunshine. But he could not do

  that. He was a Montesavro, and the head of his family,

  and besides, what ghosts — if there were such

  things — could possibly lurk here, in this piece of

  metal? His fingers closed round the familiar faded

  velvet box he remembered from his childhood.

  "Here it is," he told Jodie brusquely, closing the

  safety deposit box and relocking it before opening the

  ring box.

  "There is a legend that when the woman who wears

  this ring is pure the stone glows with a particular clarity.

  My mother always claimed that it was the stone

  itself that was clouded," he added cynically, as Jodie

  stared in disbelief at the huge rectangular emerald surrounded

  by white flashing diamonds.

  "I can’t possibly wear that," she protested. "I’d be

  terrified of losing it. I wouldn’t feel safe unless I had

  an armed guard with me. It must be worth…" She

  shook her head, and Lorenzo frowned, recognising

  not awed excitement in her voice at the thought of

  the ring"s value but instead shocked distaste. A

  woman who felt distaste rather than excitement at the

  thought of wearing expensive jewellery? Such a

  woman was so far removed from his own experience

  that he hadn’t imagined one might exist.

  "let’s see if it fits before we start arguing about

  whether or not you will wear it," he told her coolly.

  Jodie could feel her hand starting to shake when

  Lorenzo gripped her wrist and then slid the ring down

  onto her ring finger. The very weight of it felt uncomfortable.

  Jodie frowned, and immediately went to

  tug it off.

  "No, leave it!"

  The peremptory bite of Lorenzo’s voice shocked

  her into stillness.

  Lorenzo’s frown deepened as he studied the ring,

  lifting her hand so that he could inspect it more

  closely.

  "what’s wrong?" she asked him uncertainly.

  "Look into it and tell me what you can see,"

  Lorenzo instructed her.

  Reluctantly Jodie did so. "I can’t see anything," she

  told him, confused.

  And neither could he, Lorenzo acknowledged. The

  ring was totally free of the vague cloudiness which

  he remembered had so dissatisfied his mother. A freak

  of chance? A difference in chemical reactions between

  one woman"s skin and another"s? There had to

  be a logical reason for the clarity of the emerald when

  Jodie wore it.

  Oblivious to the conflicting emotions Lorenzo was

  trying to repress, Jodie tugged off the ring and handed

  it back to him.

  "I meant what I said. I’m not wearing it," she told

  him hardily.

  "We shall see. Certainly you will have to wear it

  on Sunday, when we attend church for the first reading

  of our banns," Lorenzo informed her.

  She knew someone who would be envious of her

  supposed betrothal ring, Jodie thought half an hour

  later, after they had left the bank. And that was

  Louise. Jodie could well imagine her reaction were

  she to turn up at John’s wedding wearing it!

  Automatically, to cheer herself up, she tried to conjure

  up some satisfying images of her moment of triumph—

  but somehow the sense of elation she wanted

  just wasn’t there. But that was the only reason she

  was putting herself through this whole palaver, allowing

  herself to be bullied and hectored…and made love

  to…by Lorenzo. wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER NINE

  THERE could be far, far worse ways in which to spend

  the next twelve months than exploring this wonderful

  city, Jodie thought happily as she took her reluctant

  leave of the Medici Palace and headed for the Piazza

  Signoria.

  She had the day to herself, Lorenzo having announced

  earlier that he had some business to attend

  to and would be gone until after lun
ch. Not that she

  minded — not one little bit. It was just the sight of so

  many couples strolling hand in hand that was making

  her aware of not having his imperious, imposing presence

  at her side, and nothing at all personal. How

  could it be? She was determined not to let down her

  emotional guard with any man ever again, and even

  if she hadn’t been she would have to be a complete

  fool to fall in love with a man like Lorenzo.

  No, it was just the warmth of the summer sun and

  the effect of Florence itself on her emotions that was

  giving her that inner feeling of sadness. Of course if

  Lorenzo had been with her he would have been able

  to tell her much more about the city than any guidebook.

  But determinedly she reminded herself firmly

  of how the tension that had somehow crept into even

  their most mundane conversational exchanges made

  her feel on edge — as though somehow she was on a

  constant adrenalin surge, her body waiting… For

  what? For him to touch her again? Her thoughts were

  drifting down dangerous pathways, she warned

  herself.

  She tried to focus on the square and its famous

  sculptures, pausing to check the guidebook she had

  bought earlier. While she was living here she could

  even try to learn Italian and turn her year of marriage

  into a means of adding to her future CV. That would

  give her something far better to occupy her thoughts

  than these dangerous sensual longings that had begun

  to creep up on her so disturbingly. Of course Lorenzo

  would be a good lover, she told herself scathingly.

  She didn’t need to experience his lovemaking at first

  hand to know that!

  The city was busy with other tourists, and by the

  time she had walked as far as the Uffizi, having decided

  to leave exploring the Palazzo Vecchio for another

  occasion, she was beginning to feel both tired

  and thirsty. There was a cafe.-bar in the square near

  to the apartment, she remembered, and it would not

  take her long to walk there.

  When she got there, the small square was so busy

  that at first she thought she wouldn’t be able to get a

  table. But finally she found one, and sat down with a

  small sigh of relief.

  Half an hour later, she was just finishing her second

  cup of coffee when a handsome young Italian approached

  her table.

  "Scusi, signorina," he apologised, giving her a

  boldly flattering smile. "May I share your table? Only