Chapter Five #2
She nodded, and that mechanical nod was the last thing he saw before she closed the door in his face.
Seconds later, he heard the key turn in the lock, and he turned and walked slowly over to the bed.
He had spent most of his life feeling boxed in and contained by the personalities around him, defined by their dislikes and preferences.
But now, even though he was locked out, not locked in, he had never felt more trapped.
His gaze moved slowly around his room. He loved the castle, knew that living there was a privilege. But he had never wanted to run the estate or be the heir apparent. Or become the caretaker-cum-manager of his entire family.
It had happened by osmosis. It didn’t matter that for most of his life somebody else had been technically in charge.
His great-grandfather. Then his grandfather.
His father. And, briefly, Edo, his charming older brother who was adored not just by his mother but by the very people who had lost their jobs in the redundancies Ettore had had to implement to pay back Edo’s debts.
Of course, nobody knew that. Just as nobody knew that it was he who had sat down with his father and convinced him that the only way to save the estate from the mess his grandfather left behind was to sell off the other properties that his forebears had amassed over six hundred years.
He hadn’t wanted to make those decisions. And yet, someone had had to make them. That someone should have been Edo.
But the wrong brother had died.
That was what his mother had thought. And said to him after Edo’s death.
He knew she’d been grief-stricken, raging against a world that had robbed her of her child. But he was her child too.
Her second son, the middle child, the spare, although truthfully, he hadn’t even been that.
That would imply he could replace his brother and that simply wasn’t true.
He’d known that for what felt like for ever, just as he’d known that his father doted on Sofia.
His was the hand that had always got held by the nanny.
His body tensed against the horsehair and pocket-sprung mattress as he heard the creak of the French windows being pushed open next door.
Dulcie.
Getting to his feet, he walked towards his own closed windows, drawn to an image of her standing on her balcony like some modern-day Juliet—
He froze, his eyes narrowing incredulously through the glass, hardly able to believe what he was seeing as Dulcie twisted her body over the balustrade and began climbing down the twisted, woody trunk of the wisteria that clung to the stone outside her room.
She slithered down the last few feet and dropped to the ground. Then she wiped her hands on her dress, slipped her shoes back on her feet and started walking purposefully towards the gardens.
It was a surprisingly easy climb, Dulcie thought. As her feet touched the warm terrace, she felt grounded, metaphorically and literally.
Slipping her shoes back on, she headed towards the formal gardens. But they weren’t what interested her. And, walking swiftly, she made her way between the mathematically straight box hedges to what lay on the other side of a sun-soaked brick wall.
She hadn’t been lying to Valentina, she did feel exhausted physically and emotionally, but she was hardly going to fall asleep with that snarky comment Ettore had made about honesty replaying inside her head.
As if he hadn’t just revealed to her hours earlier that he was a marquis who lived in this castle.
The hypocrisy of it stung almost as much as the judgement in his eyes.
She squared her shoulders. Then why was she letting him get inside her head? He might be her husband, but she wasn’t some method actress immersing herself in her role. Right now, she was just Dulcie.
Feeling calmer, she pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped through it into—
She sucked in a breath, stunned, speechless.
The vineyard stretched out in every direction. There were no grapes, but the gnarled canes of the vines were covered in tender shoots and delicate, lobed leaves of every possible shade of green from a pale eau de Nil to a deeper, richer emerald.
Transfixed, she walked down the first row, her fingers grazing the soft, veined leaves. They weren’t just green. Some of the younger shoots had a reddish, purplish tinge. She frowned. Up close, she could see some were damaged. They were flecked with brown spots and torn in places.
‘You know, if you keep on disobeying me every time I ask you to do something, this is going to be a very challenging experience for the both of us.’
She spun round, blinking into the sunlight, temporarily blinded.
But she didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who had spoken.
She would know his voice in the dark. In fact, if Ettore hadn’t spoken at all, and she were blindfolded, she would know it was him because her heart, which had been beating out a slow, steady drum roll of appreciation, was now pounding out of time.
‘It already is.’ Tilting up her chin, instantly bracing for battle, she lifted her hand to block out the sun’s ray and Ettore’s face slid into focus.
‘You were supposed to knock on my door when you woke up. Not climb out of the window.’ His expression was impossible to read but there was a mildness to his voice that defused some of her fire.
‘I thought you were sleeping. And I know we’re supposed to be unhinged with love but people in love can spend some time apart. They don’t have to be joined at the hip.’
His eyes moved over her face like a caress. ‘Where would you like to be joined?’
Her breath snapped tight in her chest, skin flushing hot as she remembered his mouth on hers.
Clearing her throat, she shrugged. ‘I just needed some space.’
‘You want a larger room?’
She sighed. ‘Not that kind of space.’
The sun appeared from behind a cloud, and she took the opportunity to transfer her attention back to the vines.
‘How long ago did you have a hailstorm?’
She sensed his surprise. ‘Three weeks.’
‘You don’t have hail nets.’
He took a step closer, and now she could see that he was shaking his head. ‘The last big hailstorm to hit this region was probably two years ago so it doesn’t make economic sense. But if they keep increasing, then, perhaps, I will have to consider it.’
I, not we. She remembered the moment after lunch when he had said that aristocrats were not immune to wanting to keep up appearances. That it was their lifeblood. Theirs, not mine. But he was an aristocrat too. And wasn’t this a family business? Was it simply a slip of the tongue?
Not that it mattered.
This relationship was transactional for both of them. Their reacquainted status didn’t require her to know or genuinely care about the answers to those questions. Better to focus on something neutral like climate issues.
‘So, you have problems with—’
‘Would you like to—?’
They both spoke at once.
‘You first.’ She smiled stiffly.
‘I was just going to ask if you’d like to take a look around the estate.’
His gaze tracked across the vines to where an ATV was trundling towards them. She felt her heart leap with relief. A tour of the estate would be a welcome distraction.
‘I’d love that,’ she said, and for the first time since she had arrived in Italy her enthusiasm was genuine.
‘Good.’ He seemed pleased. ‘It’s too far to walk, particularly in those shoes. But if we take one of the ATVs it should be fine.’
We, not you.
Her momentary relief faltered. She’d assumed one of Ettore’s farmhands would take her. But now it appeared that he was planning on going with her.
‘Don’t feel like you have to change your plans. I don’t want to take up your time.’
His gaze travelled over her face, seeing too much, no doubt seeing the mistake she had made and the conflict she was now feeling.
‘My time is your time. And besides, I can’t think of a more enjoyable way to spend an afternoon than showing my wife around her new home. Particularly if it stops her from climbing out of her window and startling my staff.’
A group of estate workers appeared then, stopping to nod deferentially at their boss and the boss’s wife, and, after a moment of silent frustration at having once again been the agent of her own downfall, she followed him numbly to a stone barn.
Like all the buildings on the estate, it was old, but unlike the barns she had seen on the drive over, the walls weren’t crumbling and inside the floor was swept, and several ATVs were parked in a neat line.
‘You’ll need one of these.’ He picked up a helmet and handed it to her, then frowned. ‘Given the time of day, it might be quicker to cut through the woods, so I think we’ll use the dirt bikes.’
She was shaking her head. ‘But I don’t know how to ride a bike.’
‘That’s okay. You can ride pillion. Like you did in Paris. Or have you forgotten about Paris?’ he added after a tense, electric moment she didn’t fully understand but felt everywhere anyway.
Paris.
It was the first time that either of them had acknowledged those two weeks. When they had finally emerged from Ettore’s hotel room, the storm had long gone. The city had felt newly born in the pale sunshine that had greeted them, and Ettore had suggested they hire scooters.
How could she have resisted?
What woman wouldn’t have wanted to ride around the city of love, with her arms wrapped around his waist, his heartbeat beating against her ribs, his blood pulsing in time to hers? She had felt both safe and so intensely happy that she had wept when they had had to hand the scooters back.
Now he held out the helmet as if it were a gauntlet. Which it was, she thought, as something gleamed in his eyes that made heat dance over her skin.
Ten minutes later, she was moving through the lines of vines, her hands tight around the bike’s grab rail, her gaze averted from Ettore’s broad back, but it was hard not to watch the flex of his glorious muscles as he changed gears or leaned into a turn.