Sicilian Nights Omnibus Read online

  ‘No!’ Leonora stopped him hurriedly. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Then there is nothing for you to fear,’ he told her with a dismissive shrug. ‘I agree that there will be a certain amount of inconvenience, but we are both adults, and I am sure that we are perfectly capable between us of working out a means of not intruding on one another’s need for privacy.’

  Not trusting herself to say anything, Leonora walked over to the windows and looked out, startled to discover that all she could see was the sea.

  ‘This tower is built into the original walls,’ Alessandro told her. ‘It is one of only three that our ancestor left standing when he started his rebuilding programme. It is linked to the main house by a corridor through the doors opposite the windows, whilst the doors on either side of the bed lead respectively to a dressing room and the bathroom. I dare say that our cases will already have been brought up and unpacked.’

  ‘I can’t share a room with you,’ Leonora insisted as the full recognition of exactly what that was going to mean burst in on her.

  It wasn’t just a matter of them having to share a bed. They would be sharing a bathroom. She would have to dress and undress in the same room as him. She would have to be there when he dressed and undressed. The fierce kick of excitement with which her body greeted that knowledge was not the reaction she wanted to admit to having.

  ‘You have no choice,’ Alessandro told her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN THE END it wasn’t as bad as she had been dreading. Alessandro disappeared into the hallway with his laptop, whilst she showered in the enormous state-of-the-art bathroom, with its wet room and its huge roll-top bath. He left her the privacy of the dressing room in which to dress, whilst he showered and then dressed in the bedroom, in clothes he had removed from the dressing room beforehand.

  Her new hairstyle was surprisingly easy to manage, and so too were the make-up tricks of the trade she had been taught. But what she was not able to do was zip her dress all the way up the back. No matter how hard she tried it remained stubbornly a few millimetres from the top—and nor could she fasten the tiny hook and eye at the very top of the zip.

  She could, of course, always ask Alessandro to do it for her, but she wasn’t going to admit to him that she needed his help with anything. Besides, given what he had already said about her being overcome with lust for him, he might think that she was using some kind of deliberate ploy, pretending that she couldn’t fasten her zip. She certainly wasn’t going to have him accuse her of that. Anyway, the zip was secure enough, and the dress’s slender shoulder straps were holding it in place.

  She heard him rap briefly on the door and call out, ‘Are you ready?’

  Calling back, ‘Yes,’ she opened the door. Dressed in jeans and a shirt Alessandro had been impressive, but dressed in a dinner suit he was more than impressive. He was... Leonora gulped and swallowed, and willed her heartbeat to resume a more normal rhythm as she went to join him.

  The cocktail dress stroked silkily against her skin, sensitising her nerve-endings—or was it Alessandro’s presence that was doing that?

  When he went to open the door for her the thin plain gold cufflinks gleamed discreetly in the light, and Leonora’s heart gave a series of small skipping beats. Had she met a man like Alessandro when she was younger, would she still be a virgin? A man like Alessandro? No, there could not possibly be another. He was unique, a one-off—and besides, she suspected that a man of his sexual experience and expertise would be contemptuous of if not outright repelled by a woman like her.

  Hadn’t he already said as much, when he had told her that, having kissed her once, he had no desire to do so again? But he had kissed her again. For show—as part of the role he had decided they must both play—not for any other reason. What mattered most now was that she didn’t give in to her own weakness, and that she didn’t allow Alessandro to see or guess that she might be vulnerable to allowing him

  to win in any kind of contest between them. He had defeated her once by blackmailing her. Her pride would not allow her to acknowledge him as the victor a second time.

  They were in a corridor, bare-walled and obviously old, which then opened up into a wider gallery panelled in dark wood and hung with heavily framed portraits.

  ‘This corridor is just short of a quarter of a mile long. My brothers and I used to ride our bikes along here in wet weather,’ Alessandro informed her, breaking the silence between them. ‘There are no rooms off it, just two sets of stairs—one that goes down to the kitchens and up to what originally were the servants’ quarters and the nursery, and another to my father’s private apartments. It was one of his rules that we were not allowed to use the gallery in case we disturbed him whilst he was “working”—that being his euphemism for being with his mistress. He didn’t spare the rod when any of us were caught transgressing.’

  Leonora was appalled. ‘My father never hit any of us. He wasn’t that kind of man. In fact he would have encouraged us to use a gallery, and would probably have made us race against one another. Dad loves competitive sports, but most of all he loves winners.’

  Alessandro frowned as he listened, his anger at himself for telling Leonora something so personal about his childhood vanquished by his reaction to her comment about her father. Maybe he had not physically abused his children, as Alessandro’s own father had done, but there were other ways of inflicting pain on the young and vulnerable. Alessandro could see quite plainly that Leonora felt inferior to her brothers, although he knew that she would fiercely deny feeling any such thing were he to suggest it. The very fact that she had gone to such reckless lengths to prove that she could fly not just as well as but better than Leo proved that. It wasn’t merely a matter of doing better, though. It was more than that. It was a need to be accepted and valued in a family situation where only the first was valued.

  If he were to say as much to her she would reject his assessment, of course, just as he would have done himself if their positions had been reversed. But she could not hide the truth from him. He could see and understand her motivation as clearly as though it had been his own. Because her reaction was so close to what his own would have been? Alessandro’s frown deepened. This was the first time he had recognised in someone else the emotions that had so often driven him, and it wasn’t a welcome or pleasant discovery.

  He didn’t want to recognise in Leonora his own vulnerabilities, and he most certainly did not want to accept that the two of them shared something as personal as the same kind of emotional triggers, resulting from their childhoods. Besides, their circumstances were not the same. He was the middle one in a trio of same-sex siblings; she was a girl in between two brothers. Which meant what? That she felt driven to compete with the male sex as a whole as well as to do better than her brothers? Potentially that would make her a woman who saw sex as yet another means of beating her male partner, since men traditionally were seen as the sexual instigators and the victors. She would feel a need to usurp that role. So why hadn’t she made any attempt to challenge him sexually?

  Alessandro had a keenly analytical brain, and he didn’t like problems that did not add up. Right now—irritatingly—the problem that was Leonora Thaxton most definitely did not add up.

  Just as Leonora was beginning to think it might have been a good idea for her to wear a pair of flat shoes for this hike, Alessandro turned towards a pair of double doors that opened up into a vaulted-ceilinged salon filled with dark furniture. They had to weave their way through it to reach another set of doors. The atmosphere of the room felt heavy with disapproval, and Leonora was glad to leave it behind even though the library they were now in felt just as unwelcoming.

  Eventually, after traversing two more darkly formal rooms, they emerged onto another corridor—much shorter this time—which in turn brought them to an imposing flight of stairs that led down into the hallway Leonora recog
nised from their arrival.

  Now for the first time—although as far as she could see there was no one below them in the hallway—Alessandro offered her his arm, so that they could descend the stairs together as a couple. Just as she had done before, Leonora noted how even with four-inch heels she was still several inches shorter than Alessandro. How odd it was that along with additional height had come the feeling of being unfamiliarly fragile and feminine. And, even more disconcertingly, the absurd impulse to move closer to Alessandro, tucking herself against him so that their shared descent of the stairs brought her hip into brief contact with his body.

  When he felt Leonora moving closer to him Alessandro told himself that the only reason he was allowing her to do so was because their physical closeness would help to convince onlookers of her total commitment to him. That there were not as yet any onlookers to observe them as he adjusted his grasp on her elbow to keep her close was, he decided, immaterial. Before long there would be, and it was important that their intimacy came across as natural and second nature.

  Once they were down in the hallway Alessandro guided Leonora towards the open double doors she had noticed before, and through them into an elegant salon littered with gilded furniture. Some of it was decorated with Egyptian motifs and some was covered in faded powder-blue silk, patterned with what Leonora guessed must be the family arms in gold thread. The room was illuminated by two chandeliers, their light thrown back by several pairs of gilded wall mirrors. Several low tables were crammed with small ornaments.

  ‘Some of the decor in these rooms dates from the time of Napoleon, shortly after his victorious campaign in Egypt,’ Alessandro informed Leonora. ‘The blue silk was specially woven to incorporate the family’s arms. It’s rumoured that at one time our ancestor had ambitions to marry his eldest son off to Napoleon’s sister Pauline. It was perhaps just as well that he didn’t succeed.’

  As they went through another room, decorated in faded yellow this time, Leonora could hear the hum of conversation coming from the next room. An imposingly liveried footman complete with a powdered wig emerged from the room, carrying an empty tray, and was quickly followed by another. Nervous apprehension bubbled in Leonora’s stomach, for all the world as though she were in reality a young woman about to meet the father of the man she loved for the first time.

  However, as she held back, Falcon suddenly came through the door saying easily, ‘There you are,’ and then she was stepping into the room on Alessandro’s arm, whilst Falcon shepherded them through the small throng of guests, many of them members of the older generation, with the men wearing rows of medals and decorations that matched their wives’ jewellery for magnificence.

  The old Prince was seated in what Leonora suspected was a chair made to support an invalid, although it was plain that Alessandro’s father considered it to be more of a throne. His silver hair glinted in the light, and his features were as proudly arrogant as those of his second son. One hand, its knuckles swollen with age, was gripping the silver head of a walking stick. He was a very regal figure indeed, Leonora thought, and then checked that thought as he turned his head to look at her. In place of Alessandro’s proud gaze she saw that his father’s eyes were small and his gaze spiteful, with a lifetime’s worth of self-indulgence and conceit evident in his expression. Her first thought was that he was not worthy of being Alessandro’s father—and her second was that she had no right to be thinking such thoughts.

  As though a silent order had been given, a pathway to the old Prince had been cleared for them by the other guests, and the room was gripped by a watchful silence. Plainly the hostility that existed between father and son was common knowledge, Leonora recognised.

  ‘So, Alessandro—you are taking a dangerous risk, aren’t you? Bringing your friend here? How many times do I need to warn you that a mere second son must always run the risk of being supplanted—in all things—by the first-born? A woman will always look for the best possible father for her children—which is why first-born sons get the pick of the crop, and second-born sons have to make do with what is left or rejected.’

  The Prince wasn’t just cruel, he was wicked as well, Leonora thought angrily. What a dreadful thing to say to his own son—and in public. He had just implied that Alessandro could never hope to keep the woman he loved if his brother should want her. The Prince wasn’t just insulting Alessandro, he was insulting her as well.

  Before she could stop herself, Leonora drew herself up proudly and announced firmly, ‘Alessandro knows that no one could ever take his place in my life or in my heart.’ Leonora could almost feel the concerted indrawn breath of her audience. ‘And as for him being a second son—that adds to my love for him instead of detracting from it.’

  ‘Only a fool would believe that. There is no woman alive who would not wish to see her own son succeeding to the family’s titles rather than the child of her husband’s older brother. Your sex has lied, cheated and killed to claim such a birthright,’ the Prince told her coldly.

  ‘Maybe centuries ago, but in these modern times what a mother wants for her child is a loving father and the chance for that child to grow up free of the restrictions imposed on it by family expectation. Alessandro’s gifts to his children will be far, far greater than an empty and meaningless title.’

  Leonora could feel the wave of astonishment surging round her, and the euphoria she felt at having stepped in to defend Alessandro quickly retreated when she turned to look at him and saw that, far from looking pleased with her, Alessandro was looking at her very grimly indeed.

  The Prince hadn’t finished.

  ‘Pah!’ he exclaimed. ‘You may believe that now, but no woman wants a man who stands silent whilst she has to defend him. But then you were always one to run for protection behind a woman’s skirts, weren’t you, Alessandro? You haven’t changed.’

  ‘And neither have you, Father,’ Alessandro told him contemptuously. ‘However, I have no wish to become involved in an exchange of verbal insults with a sick old man whose life has not much longer to run—much as I dare say you would like to force me to do.’

  Without giving his father a chance to say any more, Alessandro gripped Leonora’s arm and turned round, immediately introducing her to the middle-aged couple standing behind them. They were a local dignitary and his wife, whom Alessandro engaged in conversation about a restoration project on some civic buildings, the cost of which Leonora learned he was contributing to. The local dignitary obviously had a high opinion of Alessandro, and Leonora guessed that his sympathy lay with him—although he did not allude to the sharp exchange of words that had just taken place between father and son.

  The Prince seemed to be a law unto himself, with no regard for the feelings of others—especially those of his second son. Growing up with such a father must have been hard—far, far harder than her own childhood. Her father might have encouraged rivalry and competition between them, and not been aware of the emotional needs of a teenage girl, but he did love them all. The Prince, on the other hand, did not appear to have any love for any of his sons.

  Alessandro excused them both to the local dignitary and his wife, saying that he wanted to introduce Leonora to as many people as possible, but he pulled her into an alcove and stood in front of her, blocking both her escape and the curious looks of anyone else.

  ‘If my father had paid you to humiliate me, you could not have done a better job for him,’ he said, quietly and savagely.

  Immediately Leonora snapped back, ‘I was just trying to defend you, that’s all.’

  ‘Defend me?’ Her protest seemed to increase his anger rather than lessen it. ‘That’s my role—not yours. A man defends himself and those who depend on him. A woman defends her child. But of course you couldn’t resist seizing control, could you? Even though it meant humiliating me—the man, I might remind you, you are supposed to love.’

  ‘You’re accusin
g me of seizing control? That’s rich, coming from you! And you’d be able to see that for yourself if you weren’t so obsessed with proving to your father that being second born doesn’t stop you from being a success.’

  ‘I have nothing to prove to anyone, least of all my father. The only opinion and approval that matters to me is my own.’

  They glared at one another as they exchanged increasingly furious whispers.

  ‘Rubbish,’ Leonora told him. ‘If that was the truth you’d never have blackmailed me and brought me here. You know your trouble—’

  ‘I certainly know yours,’ Alessandro interrupted her. ‘You just can’t allow a man to be a man because you have to compete with him. In fact you are so obsessed with competing with my sex that you’ve turned yourself into a sexless mutation of a woman who thinks that men are turned on by an Amazonian intent on fighting their battles for them.’

  ‘That’s not true.’ Leonora’s voice trembled slightly, but deep down inside herself she knew that his unkind words had struck a painful chord.

  How often had her brothers teased her that she frightened off their sex? Their teasing had hurt, but she had hidden that from them, not knowing how to change what she had become. It wasn’t true, though, that she’d always wanted to compete with men and beat them. Deep down inside she longed for a man she could trust so implicitly that she could let down her guard with him—someone who would understand her and not laugh at her, but instead help her regain her womanhood. But how could she ever trust any man to that extent when she already feared rejection so much?

  Alessandro knew he was overreacting, but listening to Leonora defending him had awakened painful memories of his childhood, of both his mother’s and later Falcon’s attempts to protect him from his father. He hated the memory of his vulnerability and inability to protect himself. It was his job to protect Leonora, not the other way around, but she had not allowed him to do so. Instead she had helped his father to humiliate him.