Good to know he wasn’t the only one blindsided by this hunger.
She blinked. ‘Oh, yes… I wanted to return to Westwick tomorrow—just for a few days.’ For a moment the information would not compute in his endorphin-addled brain. ‘The decorators are arriving on Monday, and I need to be there to oversee the work.’ She hesitated then rambled on, making no sense. ‘I’ve arranged a flight from Naples. I was wondering if I could borrow one of your cars and park it at the airport…’
She continued to babble about her travel arrangements as frustration rose up inside him.
‘No…’ He barked the word more harshly than intended, making her jumbled information slam to a halt. ‘You cannot leave Capri yet.’
Because I still want you, all the damn time.
Thank god he managed to bite off that confession before it could tumble out of his mouth. But the fear continued to claw at his chest. He could not let her go, not yet. He wasn’t ready.
Her eyes widened. But then her chin firmed, and he saw the stubbornness which had been absent for the last two weeks… It was annoying to realise he’d missed it.
‘We agreed, Dario, in Milan, on the day we exchanged vows,’ she said, with a patience that infuriated him. Did she think him an imbecile, that he didn’t remember that? ‘And you…you promised.’
He let his frustration build, to control the panic. He didn’t want her to go. What if she did not come back? He needed her.
Even as the thought struck him, the walls of the study, bright with the mid-morning sun, seemed to close in around him. His leg throbbed, alongside the scar on his face… And he was suddenly that boy again, trapped in the wreckage of an overturned car, waiting forever for his only friend to return to him.
He stalked across the room, turning his back to her, to stare at the rocky coastline, the shimmering blue of the sea, the glint of the cliffs, the rambling pinks and purples of the bougainvillea, his body still humming with afterglow, his stomach hollowing out.
He thrust his fingers through his hair, trying to buy himself time, to control the fear, the emotion, that hideous feeling of being abandoned, of being alone.
‘I’ll be back in a few days…’ she murmured.
He swung round. ‘No, I will accompany you,’ he managed, his throat still raw with panic, the sweat pooling to run down his spine. ‘We will take the helicopter to Naples, and the jet from there to Heathrow. Then we can transfer by car to the estate.’
Even as he suggested the hasty travel plan, he knew he sounded deranged. The last damn thing he wanted, the last damn thing he hadeverwanted, was to spend time at Westwick. But how could he force her to stay? Not only had he promised to let her return to Wiltshire during the month, but worse, it would make him seem weak and too needy to refuse her request.
Her face softened with surprise and then a brilliant smile crossed her features.
‘Really? You’ll come to Westwick with me?’
‘Yes, of course. We must not separate yet, the Trustees still need to be convinced this marriage is real,’ he said, the white lie coming easily.
‘Oh Dario, that’s wonderful.’ She rushed towards him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He clasped her shoulders, stupidly touched by her transparent, and uncomplicated reaction. And ignored the prickle of guilt that she had accepted his lie so readily. Because her blind faith in him, and her trust, however undeserved, was somehow even more intoxicating than the furious lovemaking, the effects of which still echoed in his groin. As she began to reel off a list of things she wanted to show him—to do with the renovations—he didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth, that he had no interest in the Hall. But as she continued to babble, the brutal thunder of his own heart, crashing against his ribs, started to ease.
He would take her to that godforsaken place, and then bring her back here with him… And keep her here, until he could lock the fear away again for good.
Then, at last, he would be able to let her go.
Chapter Fourteen
DARIO STARED OUTof the window of the chauffeur-driven limousine, which had picked them up at Heathrow two hours ago, as it drove through the gates of Westwick Hall. The last time he’d been here, he’d only had to stay for a matter of minutes. But now he would have to remain for several days. The thought did not appeal to him, the hollow sensation he had been running away from for years making his stomach drop to his toes.
But as the large Palladian frontage came into view—the twin staircases which led to the front entrance obscured by scaffolding—he found himself glancing at the woman asleep beside him.
She had been talking non-stop when they had boarded the jet that morning in Naples, keen to apprise him of all the different infrastructure projects she had put in motion with the investment he’d given her… How had that simple bribe—to get her to marry him—become so damn complicated in the weeks since? He’d started kissing her—mostly so he could shut her up about Westwick. But of course, as soon as he’d touched her, tempted her, she’d responded with the artless enthusiasm he found so intoxicating… And before either of them could say ‘mile-high club’ they’d been tearing each other’s clothes off in the jet’s bedroom. He could see now he’d exhausted her, because she’d fallen asleep as soon as they’d driven away from the airport.
Her enthusiasm about this place had only deepened the chasm in his stomach which had been growing ever since he had agreed to this trip. With her scent filling the car, though, and the thought of what lay ahead when they arrived at the Hall, it was impossible for him to switch off his brain…or the memories which continued to torment him.
The chauffeur braked on the newly laid driveway in front of the towering edifice of his father’s house. Even with the May sunlight glinting off the recently sand-blasted stonework, the place loomed over him—oppressive and judgemental—a miserable reminder of the grieving child, and the broken teenager he’d tried so hard to destroy. Why did this place always yank him back to those times in his life when he’d felt so powerless and alone?
Except he wasn’t alone now, he thought, as he glanced at Tallulah, her head nestled on his chest. He pressed a kiss to her hair, knowing he should control the pleasure which welled inside him like a drug—but not quite able to today, while the shadow of his past lay over him like a shroud.
‘Wake up, bella,’ he murmured to Tallulah as a young woman bounded out of the house, a smile of welcome on her face, followed by an old man whom he vaguely recognised.
George, the groom. Was he still here?
