THE ITALIAN DUKE’S WIFE Page 12

  the cafe. is full and…"

  He was very good-looking, and quite obviously an

  expert at recognising solitary female tourists, Jodie

  reflected in rueful amusement as she looked back

  at him.

  From the other side of the square Lorenzo watched

  the age-old tableau being played out in front of him.

  Young male Florentines traditionally spent the summer

  months flirting with gullible female tourists — so

  much so, in fact, that it was an accepted rite of passage

  that moved from the discreet pick-up, via walks

  through the city, to the speedy conclusion of sex in

  the tourist"s hotel and another notch in her partner"s

  belt. And of course Jodie, with her woman"s body so

  eager to make up for her lost teenage years, even if

  she was not prepared to acknowledge it, would no

  doubt fall into this particular young Florentine"s

  hands like a ripe peach.

  Lorenzo could already see how openly responsive

  she was to her admirer, tilting her head back to look

  up at him, no doubt smiling at him… How often had

  he seen his mother give that same smile to her lover

  when as a young boy she had used him to camouflage

  those early meetings. When he had also smiled guilelessly

  at the man with whom she’d planned to betray

  his father. Well, Jodie was not going to get the opportunity

  to follow his mother"s example, no matter

  how clinically businesslike their own marriage was to

  be. Purposefully he started to make his way toward

  the cafe..

  "Please do have the table," Jodie told the waiting

  young man gently. "I was just about to leave anyway."

  "No — why Don’t you stay and allow me to buy you

  another cup of coffee?" he suggested, leaning towards

  her, his hand reaching to her arm.

  Immediately Jodie stood up and stepped back from

  him, shaking her head as she refused politely. "No,

  thank you." She could see the confusion and disbelief

  in his eyes and had to struggle not to laugh. He was

  very good-looking, and no doubt used to having his

  overtures met with far more acceptances than refusals.

  Lorenzo came to an abrupt halt as he saw the way

  Jodie got up from the table and then shook her head.

  Her body language made her feelings quite plain, and

  he could see from the sag of the young man"s shoulders

  that he was as aware as Lorenzo that he had been

  turned down.

  Jodie took her bill to the cash desk and, having paid

  it, started to head back towards Lorenzo’s apartment.

  Lorenzo turned the small incident over inside his

  head, frowning as he did so. He tried to visualise either

  his mother or Caterina doing what Jodie had just

  done in the same situation, knowing that neither of

  them would have walked away as she had. Could

  Jodie be different from them? Could she be that rare

  woman — at least in his experience — who was not

  driven by ego and vanity, who did not need a constant

  influx of new and admiring male attention?

  As he walked past the cafe. his young fellow citizen

  was already eyeing up another tourist, who, to judge

  from the way she was smiling back at him, was rather

  more appreciative of his endeavours than Jodie had

  been.

  It had become impossible for her to walk into the

  apartment without having to go and stand in front of

  Lorenzo’s "children of courage" gallery, Jodie knew,

  and each time she did she saw something new in the

  artwork that she hadn’t seen before. On a low table

  beneath the drawings there was an expensive leather-

  bound album in which Lorenzo had placed details of

  every child whose work hung in the gallery. She was

  studying it when Lorenzo walked in.

  "Tired of sightseeing?" he asked her.

  "My feet are," Jodie admitted ruefully. "So I

  thought I’d come back and do some reading instead.

  I bought lots of books about Florence while I was

  out. Some of them have descriptions in several different

  languages, but I was thinking, while I’m here,

  I’d like to try to learn Italian."

  "Since we shall be moving between Florence and

  the Castillo, it might not be wise for you to enrol in

  a formal language school, if that is what you were

  thinking. But it would certainly be possible to hire a

  private tutor if you wish," Lorenzo offered, adding,

  "Have you had lunch yet?"

  Jodie shook her head. "No. I stopped for a cup of

  coffee at the cafe. in the square." She paused and wrinkled

  her nose.

  "You didn’t enjoy it?"

  "The coffee was fine, but I got hit on by one of

  those professional flirty types. I suppose that’s one of

  the downsides of being alone."

  "Some women enjoy the attention."

  Jodie closed the album and stood up. "Well, I didn’t."

  Lorenzo could see that she meant what she was

  saying.

  "Why Don’t I ask Assunta to make us some lunch

  and bring it up to the roof garden? You can read your

  guidebooks to me if you wish — in Italian."

  Jodie was staring at him in astonishment, and

  Lorenzo had to admit he was just as startled by his

  own suggestion. He had intended to spend the afternoon

  working, not playing at being a language tutor.

  She really, really did not want to do this, Jodie realised,

  hesitating in front of the entrance to the church

  where their banns were to be read for the first time

  this morning.

  As though he sensed her reluctance, Lorenzo

  stepped forward and took hold of her arm, so that she

  had no option other than to step forward with him.

  She had had to guess at what to wear, opting in the

  end for a plain black linen skirt and a short-sleeved

  chocolate-brown tee-shirt, over which she had draped

  one of the beautiful multicoloured silk squares she

  had found tucked away with her new clothes as a

  small gift from the store, thinking that if necessary

  she could adjust the square and cover her head.

  She had been glad she had opted for dark colours

  when she had seen Lorenzo, wearing a formal dark

  suit complete with a crisp white shirt and a tie. Now,

  unable to stop herself looking slightly anxiously towards

  him, she stepped with him into a world that

  was totally unfamiliar to her. She recognised how forbidding

  and arrogant he looked. Take away the suit

  and clothe him in the costume of a Medici warlord,

  and he could have been a Renaissance soldier prince,

  she decided with a small shudder.

  The huge emerald on her ring finger flashed green

  fire in the sunlight, and someone in the small congregation

  filing in through the narrow door gasped — although

  whether in awe or shock, Jodie didn’t know.

  Although no one spoke, it was obvious from the looks

  that were exchanged that the other worshippers knew

  Lorenzo, and Jodie could feel the sharp weight of

&
nbsp; their speculation resting almost as heavily on her as

  the betrothal ring.

  People entered the dark interior of the church and

  slipped into pews, kneeling immediately in prayer,

  and Jodie turned towards the nearest pew herself, only

  to find that Lorenzo was shaking his head and walking

  past. Their footsteps echoed on the cold stone

  floor, the stones themselves worn and slippery with

  use. Ahead of them at the altar the priest kneeled,

  head bowed in prayer, whilst smoke from the incense

  drifted lazily upwards in the beam of light coming in

  through the narrow stained glass windows.

  They had reached the last pew, and Jodie’s eyes

  widened a little when she recognised Lorenzo’s family

  crest carved into the wood. A little uncomfortably

  she bowed her own head in prayer. A prayer for her

  parents, and for David and Andrea, for her friends

  and for all those in need, and then to her own astonishment

  she found herself suddenly praying fiercely

  that Lorenzo might find some way of making peace

  with his own past.

  Even though she knew why they were here in the

  church, she was still not prepared for the effect hearing

  their banns read had on her — or the emotional

  poignancy and turmoil she felt. Unconnected images

  blurred her vision — a sunny day, and her parents

  laughing down at her as they walked together; the

  shock of learning of their deaths; her aunt and uncle"s

  unhappy faces as they struggled to explain to her what

  had happened, and that she herself might still lose her

  leg; the first time she stood up properly after the accident;

  the first time John had asked her out, standing

  awkwardly beside her desk in the small office where

  she had worked for his father; the first time he had

  kissed her, and the let-down feeling of disappointment

  she had had because she didn’t feel more excited.

  The small ceremony they had just been part of

  should surely be about more than fulfilling the demands

  of someone"s pride, or gaining material pos-

  sessions, and she should now be standing here outside

  the church feeling uplifted by the promise of future

  shared love — instead of which she actually felt

  slightly guilty and shabby.

  The priest was heading towards them, smiling

  warmly as he congratulated them, his warmth increasing

  Jodie’s discomfort. He was tall and unexpectedly

  vigorously male, with an intent gaze.

  "If there are any matters you feel you wish to discuss

  with me, my child, I am at your disposal," he

  told Jodie gently, in excellent English.

  "My grandmother’s will has meant that we have

  had to change our plans to marry in England and

  bring our wedding forward," Lorenzo informed him,

  slightly coolly. "And we are grateful to you for your

  co-operation."

  The priest inclined his head gravely, and Lorenzo

  placed his hand in the middle of Jodie’s back in what

  she bemusedly recognised as a classic male possessive

  gesture, firmly ushering her away. She could feel

  the warmth of his hand through her top, and the wilful

  thought crept into her mind, like the incense smoke

  rising to the light, that had they truly been in love she

  might have turned to look up at him and smile at him,

  and his hand might have stroked her flesh in mute

  promise as he returned her smile. But they were not

  in love, and she had absolutely no wish for them to

  be in love!

  "I wish we didn’t have to get married in church,"

  she told him uncomfortably as they made their way

  back to the Palazzo. "It made me feel so guilty when

  Father Ignatius prayed for us and for our marriage,

  knowing that it isn’t going to be a real marriage."

  "A real marriage as in a sexual marriage, I assume

  you mean?"

  "No." Jodie denied it immediately, but she could

  see from his expression that he didn’t believe her.

  "Real marriage is about much more than just sex," she

  persisted.

  "But sex is a part of it — and you, as we both know,

  are dangerously curious to know the reality of a man"s

  possession."

  "You keep saying that, but it isn’t true!"

  "Your lips say one thing," Lorenzo told her softly,

  "but your eyes say another."

  She might be a virgin, but she could still recognise

  the growing sexual tension between them for what it

  was, Jodie decided shakily.

  "I need to return to the Castillo for a few days,"

  Lorenzo added abruptly. "It would be easier to leave

  you here in Florence, but, since we are so newly betrothed,

  it would be better if you were to accompany

  me. When is your next fitting for the wedding dress?"

  "On Thursday."

  "Bene, we shall be back by then."

  Jodie looked at the emerald ring she had just removed

  and replaced in its box, prior to getting ready for bed.

  The apartment was well set up with burglar alarms,

  she knew that, but even so she didn’t feel happy about

  the thought of the ring being in her room overnight,

  and would far rather it were in Lorenzo’s keeping.

  Closing the box, she picked it up and hurried out

  of her own room and across the corridor, hesitating

  briefly before she knocked on Lorenzo’s bedroom

  door.

  His brisk "Si?" had her opening the door and step

  ping into the room, explaining, "I’ve brought you the

  ring. I wanted to…" Her voice trailed away as her

  gaze slid helplessly over the smooth golden flesh of

  his torso, where it was revealed by the unbuttoned

  shirt he was removing.

  "You wanted to what?" he prompted silkily, walking

  past her to close the door before shrugging off his

  shirt completely. The gold strap of his watch gleamed

  subtly in the lamplight, the dark vee of his body hair

  a silky mesh of male sexuality that riveted and

  trapped her spellbound gaze.

  Her mouth had gone dry. She touched her tongue-

  tip to her lips, unable to focus properly on answering

  him, her senses too overwhelmed by the sight of him.

  He was so arrogantly, so devastatingly, so magnificently

  male.

  If just the sight of those broad shoulders and that

  solidly muscled chest could make her feel like this,

  what would it do to her to see him fully naked? She

  drew a deep, juddering breath of silent recognition at

  the ache uncoiling inside her.

  "The ring," she managed to tell him unsteadily,

  stretching out the hand in which she was holding the

  small box. "I want you to have it."

  "Do you? Or do you mean you want me to have

  you, to satisfy that curiosity of yours and to satisfy

  you along with it?"

  Beneath her angry outrage a shiver of something

  sensual and excited stroked her senses. Was he right?

  Was that secretly why she had come to his room?

  Because she had wanted…hoped…?<
br />
  Lorenzo watched as her expression reflected her

  feelings. Somehow she was burrowing deeper and

  deeper into his thoughts, causing him to question

  things — beliefs — he did not want to question. He

  might be better at concealing his desire than she was,

  but that didn’t mean he was any better at controlling

  it, he knew.

  "I didn’t come here for that reason at all," Jodie

  protested belatedly. "I just didn’t want to be responsible

  for looking after the ring." Could he hear in her

  voice, as she could, her own uncertainty about her

  subconscious motivation?

  "As you Don’t want to be responsible for "looking

  after" your own virginity any more?" Lorenzo suggested

  harshly. "You are overwhelmed by your virginal

  curiosity — admit it! It eats at you, and aches

  deep inside you, keeping you awake at night, wondering…

  wanting…"

  "No," Jodie breathed, but she knew she might just

  as well have been saying yes. "I Don’t want you," she

  said fiercely, trying to cling on to some kind of reality.

  "Not me," Lorenzo agreed. "But you do want what

  I can give you — the knowledge your time in hospital

  has denied you. You want to know what it feels like

  to know a man"s body, to know a man"s possession.

  You can deny it with these," he told her mockingly,

  reaching out and rubbing the pad of his thumb against

  her parted lips, "as much as you wish, but I could take

  them now with my own and they would tell me something

  very different."

  "No," Jodie repeated, but she was looking helplessly

  up into his eyes, just standing there without

  moving as he came to her and slowly slid his hands

  up over her arms, from her wrists to her shoulders,

  and she trembled almost violently with sensual pleasure

  and anticipation. He was drawing her closer, so

  close that the hot, primitive male scent of him engulfed

  her. She put her lips to the bare flesh of his

  collarbone with a small moan, and then pressed eager

  open-mouthed kisses the length of his throat, greedily

  tasting his flesh before running her tongue-tip over

  his Adam"s apple whilst her fingers dug into the hard

  muscles of his shoulders and she strained against him.

  Was this what happened when a woman was a virgin?

  Lorenzo wondered, as he struggled to control his

  sudden savage longing to feel her mouth on every part

  of him. This wild, wanton outpouring of need — not