Constantino's Pregnant Bride Read online

  “What kind of mischief? You think a disgruntled former employee might make off with me?”

  “Yes,” he said levelly. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid might happen.”

  Swallowing the incredulous laugh rising in her throat, because there was no mistaking how utterly serious he was, she said, “You think I could be kidnapped?”

  “It’s a distinct possibility, and a risk I’m not willing to take.”

  “So I’m to stay cooped up inside this place?”

  “If you find the idea so distasteful, there are acres of walled garden for you to enjoy, and a private beach, inaccessible to outsiders, where you can swim or sunbathe.” He drained his cup, set it down with a decisive clink, and rose from his chair. “I have to go. Please, Cassandra, don’t defy me on this. Stay within the palazzo grounds. I’ve got enough on my mind, without having to worry about you.”

  “Is worrying about my being held for ransom the reason you decided not to sleep in our suite last night?” she said bitterly.

  He stopped on his way to the door, and flung her a hunted look. “Your safety here is not an issue. The palazzo is secure. And you know very well why I didn’t sleep with you last night.”

  In truth, he didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. Grooves of weariness bracketed his mouth, and she felt suddenly ashamed for plaguing him, when he clearly had very pressing matters weighing on his mind.

  Contrite, she said, “Yes, I do know why. But I wish you’d reconsider, Benedict. We might not be able to make love, but if we could at least spend the nights together, I’d find it much easier to accept your not being with me during the day.”

  “Sleeping beside his wife, knowing he can’t make love to her, demands superhuman control of a man, and I’m far from sure I’m up to the challenge. But if it’s that important to you, we can give it a try. Meanwhile, please accept that I’m not trying to come across as the heavy-handed husband, just to make you miserable.”

  “I realize that. I can see that you’re concerned.”

  He brushed a kiss over her mouth. “Then please, for your own sake, stay put here until I’m free to escort you elsewhere. All other considerations apart, you saw for yourself, yesterday, how brutal the roads are around here.”

  “Oh, yes!” She gave a shudder of mock horror. “I was white-knuckled with nerves every time you stepped on the gas. And I almost had a heart attack when we rounded that one corner, and came nose to nose with a donkey pulling a cart and leaving no room for us to pass.”

  “Which is why I can’t see you being comfortable driving an unfamiliar car in such unforgiving, unfamiliar territory. Trust me on this, Cassandra. I really do have your best interests at heart.”

  She tucked her hand under his arm and walked with him to the door. That morning, he wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and sturdy work boots, yet even in such casual garb, he still managed to look like royalty. “I do trust you,” she said softly. “And you can trust me. I won’t stray from the property, Benedict, I promise.”

  “Thank you!” For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again. His hands came up to frame her face. Then, at the last moment, he backed away. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

  “Not before? What about lunch?”

  “I’ll eat with the field hands. But if I’m able to get enough accomplished in the next couple of days, we’ll spend the weekend at my summer place in Sicily.”

  It didn’t happen. Not only was the Sicilian trip put on hold, but their supposed two-week stay drifted into three, then four. Knowing from the comments he let slip, that a mountain of work still lay ahead before the orchards and groves were restored to full operating capacity, Cassie refrained from pestering him any more than she could help, about when they’d be going back to the US.

  For his part, to relieve the tedium and give her something to occupy the long hours she spent alone, Benedict arranged for Bianca to mail her a layette package containing sewing and knitting supplies, with patterns for little jackets and hats, and directions for making a lovely hand-quilted crib cover. Cassie had to work on them in secret, of course, so as not to give away the fact of her pregnancy, but at least they gave her a sense of purpose.

  They also saved her sanity, because in the days after that, she saw so little of Benedict that she began to wonder if he was deliberately avoiding her. Those times they were together, he was so preoccupied and distant that although he’d given in to her request that they sleep together, she felt no real sense of connection between them.

  Oh, he provided for her well enough. She had a roof over her head, food on the table, a perfunctory peck on the cheek each night and morning. But a warm body to curl up against at night? She might as well have been lying next to one of his mother’s precious marble statues!

  It wasn’t that she expected him to break their agreement, but did their not making love mean they couldn’t show each other normal affection? It appeared so. In many ways, he was now more a stranger than he had been the night she conceived his child.

  If Cassie didn’t see much of her husband, though, she saw more than enough of Elvira. The minute she stepped out of the suite, the woman emerged from the shadows, a silent, disapproving figure on constant surveillance.

  What did she think—that her son’s wife might try to steal the family silver? Deface the paintings on the walls? Take her manicure scissors to the tapestries?

  To escape the oppressive atmosphere, Cassie spent as much time as possible on the beach. It became her haven, the one place she found peace and a temporary sense of freedom. Down there, out of sight of the house, she could sit in the shade of an umbrella and work on her baby’s layette, laze on the pale gold scimitar of sand, or swim in the clear blue sea, without fear of censure.

  As April slipped into May, however, the temperature soared and to avoid the worst of the heat, she was forced to spend more time in the palazzo where she took refuge upstairs, on the sitting room balcony overlooking the shadowed courtyard. It was then, hemmed in by the claustrophobic atmosphere, that she missed her own home and her own friends so acutely.

  Her occasional phone calls to Trish did help, but the only telephone in the residential part of the palazzo was in the entrance hall. Trying to conduct a private conversation there was near impossible, with Elvira frequently lurking in the background.

  “Having fun?” Trish would ask.

  “Hardly,” Cassie would mutter, peering furtively over her shoulder. “Much more of this, and I’ll be crawling around on my hands and knees, barking at the moon.”

  “Still not getting along with the mother-in-law?”

  “Not a chance. Most of the time, she’s got the temperament of a pit viper. The rest, she’s so spaced out, it’s enough to make a person wonder if she’s on drugs.”

  “And she still hasn’t clued in to the reason you’re wandering around the place wearing tent dresses?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What about the sister?”

  “Oh, Francesca’s a darling, and so is Giovanna. If it weren’t for the two of them acting as a buffer between me and Elvira, it’d be open war around here. But they’re both as caught up in the family business as Benedict, so I don’t see much more of them than I do of him.”

  “Well, hang in there, kiddo! With everyone working around the clock to put things in order, this can’t go on much longer. And don’t worry about a thing at this end. Although everyone here misses you, we’re coping, and business is booming.”

  Yes—booming without her!

  Then, as if all that weren’t misery enough, Benedict sought her out one day and said, “I’m going to have to leave you here alone for a few days, Cassandra. There’s a matter to be dealt with elsewhere.”

  Her heart plummeted with fear. She knew immediately, from his somber expression, that the “matter” had to do with meting out to those responsible for the vandalism, the Constantino brand of justice he’d spoken of weeks before.

  “I can’t do this anym
ore!” she cried brokenly. “I can’t, Benedict! I’ve had enough. You married me and brought me here, for the baby’s sake and because you believe family should come first, yet here I am, growing bigger by the day, and to maintain peace with your benighted mother, I have to keep my pregnancy secret. And now, on top of that, I have to worry that you’re going to get yourself killed by a bunch of thugs, because you’re too proud to enlist police help?”

  “It’s the way it has to be,” he said, attempting to corral her in his arms.

  She fought him off and dashed the angry tears from her eyes. “No! I won’t do it. I won’t wait here for them to bring your broken body back, and be left a widow before I’ve known what’s it like to become a real wife.”

  He hitched one hip on the edge of the bedroom dresser and, overcoming her resistance, drew her into the vee of his thighs, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, and smell the residue of sun-baked earth on his skin.

  “Don’t give up on us now, cara,” he begged. “Once this last matter is settled, I’ll be finished here, and will take you home again. You’ll be back with your own kind long before the baby’s born, I promise.”

  “But can you promise that you’ll be there, as well?”

  “Of course. This is my child, too.”

  If only he’d said, Of course, because I love you! she would have agreed to anything. But what was the point in wishing for the moon when, from the outset, he’d been very clear that love didn’t enter the equation?

  Pressing her lips together hard to prevent herself from bursting into tears, she said “Let go of me, Benedict.”

  But he wouldn’t release her. “No,” he said. “It’s been too long since I held you in my arms.” His gaze fell to her mouth and remained there. “Too long since I kissed you,” he said, and let his own mouth following his glance.

  One kiss was all it took. Just that swiftly, that helplessly, she capitulated. She knew she’d hate them both afterward—him for being such a masterful lover, and herself for being too spineless to resist him—but for now, all that emblazoned itself on her consciousness was easing the desperate hunger which had beset her for so long.

  To have him hold her as if she were the most precious creature in the world, to feel his mouth claiming hers with such unrestrained passion, was all that counted. Time enough tomorrow, when he’d have left her again, to dwell on regret and to despise them both.

  CHAPTER NINE

  HE LEFT the following morning, and for the next three days and nights, she was so consumed with fear for his safety that she thought she’d go mad. Finally, on the afternoon of the fourth day, and unable to stand her own company a moment longer, Cassie picked up her phrase book and made her way to the kitchen in search of Speranza, the one person who, from the very beginning, had always treated her with kindness.

  Although equipped with enough modern appliances to make it reasonably efficient, the kitchen bore many reminders of an earlier era. Braids of garlic and dried peppers decorated the walls, an open-fire brick oven filled one corner, and iron pots and pans hung from hooks above the stove. In Cassie’s opinion, it was by far the most cheerful room in the house and she wished she’d found it sooner.

  Speranza was rolling out dough at a big scrubbed table in the middle of the floor, but she dusted off her hands when she saw she had a visitor.

  “La disturbo?” Cassie asked.

  “No!” The dear old soul broke into a welcoming smile, and with much effusive gesturing, led her to a rocking chair beside the oven. “Avanti, e si accomodi, per favore!”

  Wishing she had a better grasp of the language, Cassie flipped through her phrase book, searching for the words to explain her presence, but couldn’t find anything appropriate. “I’m afraid I don’t speak much Italian—non parlo italiano.”

  Speranza nodded enthusiastically and waited, her wrinkled face alive with curiosity.

  Feeling decidedly foolish, Cassie waved her hands and said, “I came to see you because it’s lonely upstairs, all by myself—sola.”

  “Sola. Si!” Another smile, this one full of sympathy.

  “I thought we might have coffee together.” She touched her fingertips to her heart, then gestured at Speranza. “Caffe—you and me?”

  “Non caffe!” Tutting with disapproval, the old woman bustled to the refrigerator, and took out a pottery jug. “Latte—per bambino,” she said, pouring a glass of milk and handing it to Cassie.

  Startled, Cassie splayed her hands across her middle. “Benedict told you about the bambino?”

  Speranza knew enough English to understand the question, but not enough to reply with words. Instead, she shook her head, and tapped her temple with a work-gnarled forefinger.

  Taken aback, Cassie exclaimed, “You guessed?”

  More nodding, and the widest, warmest smile yet.

  “Oh…” Overcome with emotion, Cassie fought a rush of tears. “You don’t know how good it feels to be able to talk openly about it. No one else knows, you see. Benedict’s reluctant to say anything. Perhaps, he’s embarrassed.” She hunted through her phrase book, and found the word she was looking for. “Benedict è imbarazzato.”

  Aghast at the suggestion, Speranza held out a peremptory hand for the book and riffled through the vocabulary section at the back. After much concentration, she spoke, and if the pronunciation was a bit garbled, there was no mistaking her meaning. “No, signora. Signor Benedict, he is proud.”

  “I don’t know, Speranza.” Cassie stroked her hand over her midriff again, then touched her wedding ring. “He only married me because of the bambino.”

  This time, her message went astray, and it was pretty obvious from Speranza’s knowing smile that her reply had more to do with Benedict’s sperm count than his sense of honor. “Si. Signor Benedict è molto virile!”

  “He’s all that and then some,” Cassie agreed ruefully. “The trouble is, I can never tell whether he’s simply being kind and decent because he got me pregnant, or if he really cares about me, regardless of the baby.”

  She knew she was she was pouring out her heart to someone who hadn’t the faintest idea what she was running on about, but the relief of being able to give voice to feelings she’d kept bottled up for so long felt wonderful. What Speranza made of it all, though, was impossible to tell. She clucked to herself, regarded Cassie thoughtfully when the spate of words came to an end, then took her hand and, turning it over, carefully inspected the palm.

  Finally, she pushed the untouched milk closer, flexed the muscles in her skinny, wrinkled arms, and announced, “Is figlio. Drink, signora, per bambino. For boy baby to be forte like Papa.”

  Whether it was the lively delight in Speranza’s dark eyes, or the sight of her surprisingly firm little round biceps that had Cassie bursting into giggles, hardly mattered. It was enough that, for what seemed like the first time in forever, something was truly funny.

  “Oh, Speranza,” she spluttered, almost choking on the milk, “you can’t begin to know how good it feels to laugh again!”

  But the merriment died as swiftly as it had arisen when a voice, sharp as a knife blade, cut through the cheerful atmosphere to inquire, “So what is it you find so amusing, Cassandra, that you take my servant away from her duties in this fashion?”

  Wiping her eyes, Cassie looked over her shoulder. Elvira stood in the doorway, her face livid with controlled rage and her fury-filled breathing stripping every vestige of lightheartedness from the room.

  How long had she been hovering there, like a big black vulture come to wreak vengeance on heaven knew what? Had she heard them talking about the baby? And what sort of price was Speranza going to have to pay for fraternizing with the enemy? Because that this was one of those days when Cassie had once again been cast in the role of adversary in her mother-in-law’s eyes, was pretty hard to miss.

  “Please don’t blame Speranza,” she blurted out, leaping from the rocking chair so suddenly that her stomach churned. “I came here uninvited,
looking for a cup of coffee, and didn’t mean to distract her.”

  Speranza, though, didn’t seem the least bit fazed by her employer’s annoyance. She favored Elvira with a stream of unintelligible Italian, raised one hand and gave a minikarate chop to the crook of her other elbow in a universally understood gesture of disrespect, and went unhurriedly about her chores, slapping and shaping the dough on the table as unconcernedly as if such confrontations were all in a day’s work.

  Ignoring her, Elvira pounced on the glass of milk Cassie was sneakily trying to pour into the sink. “What is that for? Is your constitution so delicate that you cannot tolerate good Italian espresso, like the rest of us?”

  So she hadn’t heard about the baby! Cassie almost sagged with relief, but it quickly turned to dismay when Elvira tossed the same question at Speranza, this time in Italian. Without a moment’s hesitation, the old servant flung back a reply, and among the words she spat at her employer, bambino rang loud and all too clear through the room.

  As the import of what she heard sank home, Elvira grew so still and quiet, she might have been turned to stone. Outwardly, Cassie pretty much did the same, although her heart was flopping around behind her ribs like a landed fish. Otherwise, not a sound disturbed the utter silence, except for the ticking of the big old clock on the wall, and the rhythmic thump and slap of the dough hitting the tabletop.

  Finally, Cassie could stand the tension no longer. “Well, now you know what Benedict and I have been trying to hide from you, though why we ever bothered is beyond me,” she said, and went to leave, even though that meant stepping closer to Elvira than she’d have liked.

  She wasn’t normally given to wild imaginings, but there was something about the woman that made her skin crawl. Even at her best, Elvira was strange. At her worst, as now, she was outright chilling.

  “Sciatonna!” she hissed, making no attempt to move out of the doorway as Cassie approached. “Slut!”