Not Just a Convenient Marriage

She did so, and found his lips close to her own.

‘Help me, Sally. Say you agree,’ he said softly, his breath whispering against her face.

‘But—’

‘Say it. For my son’s sake.’

‘All right. I agree.’

Slowly Damiano dropped his head until his mouth brushed hers. She held herself steady, waiting for it to be over, feeling the tremors go through her, fighting every instinct that urged her to press against him and tempt him on—and on …

His lips parted from hers, but she could still feel the warmth of his breath. She tried to force her mind to take control. Damiano’s kiss had a power over her that she must fight. But her flesh challenged her, telling her mind that thoughts were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the sweetness flooding through her, destroying the common sense that had always ruled her life.

His eyes told her that he’d felt her tremble in his arms and knew his power over her. Now nothing could ever be the same. He would force on her a kiss of passion that would leave her no choice. She braced herself—part fearful, part furious, part craving.

She ought to leave Venice, she thought. She couldn’t bear to hurt the child, but it was better for him not to indulge in groundless hopes. But another voice spoke within her, urging her to marry Damiano and put her whole heart and soul into winning his love.

Not Just a

Convenient

Marriage

Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences, which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying in Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, in which romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won a Romance Writers of America RITA® Award. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

MILLS & BOON

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I dedicate this book to Carla, my Venetian sister-in-law, who made the light-hearted remark that inspired me to write it.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘WOW! CASANOVA! FANCY THAT!’

The young man devouring the contents of a book was alight with excitement. Sally, his sister, sitting beside him in the plane, regarded him curiously.

‘What are you on about, Charlie?’

‘Casanova, the great lover. He came from Venice. It says so here.’ He held up the tourist booklet about the city. ‘He had a thousand women and gambled a fortune every night.’

‘Then I can see why he attracts you,’ she said wryly.

At eighteen, Charlie had gambling debts that were fast mounting, something that barely troubled him while he could rely on his sister to stump up. But Sally had rebelled. Appalled by his developing addiction and the fearsome characters who were beginning to haunt their home, she’d hurriedly got him out of London. Now they were on a plane approaching Venice in what looked like a holiday but was actually an escape.

‘It’s not just the gambling,’ Charlie said. ‘He could have any woman he wanted, and they say that even now his legend lives in Venice. Aw, come on, that should interest you.’

‘Shut it!’ Sally told him.

His manner became comically theatrical. ‘How can you be so hard-hearted? You’re going to the most romantic city in the world and you couldn’t care less.’

‘Just as you couldn’t care less about the trouble your gambling causes. You’re only trying to change the subject. So just drop it, little brother. Or else!’

‘Or else what? Throw me out of the plane?’

‘No, I’ll do something much worse than that. I’ll cut off the money and make you get a job.’

‘Aaargh! You’re a cruel woman.’

Their tone was light, but beneath the banter was a hard reality. Since their parents had died seven years earlier she’d been responsible for him. She wasn’t proud of the result. He showed no signs of growing up.

As he’d said, they were travelling to the most romantic city in the world: Venice. Over a hundred little islands, connected by canals and bridges. A place of staggering beauty and magical, romantic atmosphere. And if she ‘couldn’t care less’ as he accused, it might be because there had been little romance in her life. Without being exactly plain she had looks that were ordinary, with nothing enchanting or alluring about them. Men did not tend to fall at her feet, and the one time she’d fancied herself in love there had been little happiness, and pain in the end. She had no illusions that her life was about to change now.

‘Why did you insist on coming to Venice when we could have gone anywhere?’ Charlie persisted.

‘Because I had a friend who’d booked a trip here and had to cancel at the last minute,’ she said. ‘I managed to get her hotel rooms, and air tickets.’

She had seized the offer as a chance to get away fast and cheaply. Otherwise she wouldn’t have chosen to make this trip in January.

A voice on the loudspeaker announced that the descent was about to start. Soon they could see Marco Polo Airport near the boundary of the mainland. Close by was the sea, with the two-mile causeway stretching out over the water to the multitude of little islands that made up the city of Venice.

‘Hang on,’ said Charlie. ‘It says here that there are no cars in Venice. Does that mean we have to walk along that causeway?’

‘No, there’s a car park called Piazzale Roma on the very edge of the city,’ she said. ‘A taxi can take us as far as that, then we get out and do the rest of the journey by boat through the canals.’

As they descended she gazed out of the window, enchanted by the glittering sea stretching out to where Venice could just be glimpsed on the horizon. When they landed there was the relief of finding a plentiful supply of taxis, and soon they were on their way across the causeway.

Now the city was just ahead, looming up in all its legendary beauty. The taxi turned into Piazzale Roma, and stopped near the water. Here there was a crowd of motor boats, the Venetian version of taxi. Sally gave their destination, the Hotel Billioni, and soon they were moving out into the Grand Canal, the huge elegant highway that sliced through the centre of Venice. At last the boat turned into a tiny side canal and halted where a flight of steps came down to the water. The boatman took their bags and led them the few yards to the hotel.

After checking in they were shown upstairs to the two rooms where they were to stay. Sally went straight to the window and threw it open.

Below her the little canal was quiet and mysterious. Darkness was falling and the only light on the water came in soft gleams from the windows above.

The little she had seen of Venice so far was enough to confirm its reputation for romance and mystery. It would attract lovers, perhaps for their honeymoon.

The word ‘honeymoon’ directed her thoughts to Frank, despite her efforts to prevent it. These days she didn’t often let herself think of him, not since she’d resolved to put him out of her life.

He’d attracted her. His kisses had pleased her, yet for some reason she’d resisted his urging to take them further.

‘C’mon, Sally,’ he’d said, sounding irritated. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Kisses aren’t enough any more.’

He was right. If she’d wanted to go to bed with him she was free to do so. But something held her back. When she found him with another girl it was hurtful but not really a surprise.

He accused me of being cold, she thought, and maybe he was right. Will I ever want a man so much that I can’t control myself? Probably not. If it was going to happen I guess I’d know by now.

She gave a little self-mocking laugh.

I’ve come to the city of Casanova, but somehow I don’t think even he could make me passionate. I’m too sensible. But then, I’ve always needed to be.

The sound of Charlie moving in the next room reminded her why good sense was necessary. She had made many sacrifices for him. Even being here was a sacrifice, as it might have cost her the chance of a wonderful job. She was an accountant, working independently with reasonable success, but suddenly a job with a major firm beckoned. If she’d stayed at home it might have been hers. But they were unlikely to keep it open for her, at least, not for more than a week.

She could hope, but she knew hope could be destructive if it was all you had.

Charlie’s head appeared round the door.

‘I’m starving,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and have some supper.’

The restaurant downstairs was humming with life. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and they spent a merry few minutes choosing food.

‘And this is just the start,’ Charlie said. ‘We’re going to have a great time.’

‘You might. My time will be taken up watching you to stop you going crazy.’

‘Hah! So you say. But this is the city of Casanova, the great lover. You’ll be fighting the men off.’

A chuckle overhead revealed that one of the waitresses had heard and understood.

‘It is true,’ she said. ‘This was the home of Casanova.’

‘Never mind him,’ Sally said. ‘He can wait. I want some supper.’

‘Fish,’ Charlie enthused. ‘Did you ever see so much fish?’

‘We have everything you want, signore,’ the waitress declared.

‘It’s lucky you all seem to understand English so well,’ Sally observed. ‘We’d be really lost otherwise.’

‘But people come to Venice from all over the world. We must be able to talk with them. Now, what can I get you?’

‘I’ll have the codfish prepared with olive oil, garlic and parsley.’

‘Me too,’ Charlie announced.

‘Duo baccala mantecata,’ she announced triumphantly, and bustled away.

‘Is that what we ordered?’ Charlie asked.

‘I guess it must have been.’

‘It sounds great. I’m beginning to think you did the right thing in hauling me out here.’

‘I didn’t haul you.’

‘Come on. You practically chucked me into your suitcase.’

‘Well, all right. I was getting a bit worried by those phone calls that kept coming from people who wouldn’t give their name. One called himself Wilton but the others wouldn’t tell.’

‘Wilton—well—yes.’

‘You mentioned him once, made him sound like a nasty piece of work.’

‘Was that the only reason? Didn’t you want to get shot of Frank?’

‘Frank doesn’t exist any more. Don’t ever mention him again.’

Charlie gave her a hilarious look.

‘First you kick Casanova into the long grass. Then Frank. Perhaps the entire male sex should be nervous about you.’

But he laid a hand on her shoulder in a friendly clasp. Young and self-centred as he was, Charlie could still be sympathetic.

They spent the meal planning the next day’s sightseeing.

‘We’ll get on a vaporetto,’ she said. ‘That’s the water equivalent of a bus. That way we’ll see the Grand Canal and the great bridges across it. Then we can go and see St Mark’s Square.’

‘Only it’s not a square,’ he said, studying a leaflet. ‘It’s a huge rectangle full of shops and restaurants.’

‘It sounds lovely.’

Finally they drifted back upstairs.

‘Goodnight,’ he said, giving her a peck on the cheek. ‘Sleep tight, and be ready to take Venice by storm tomorrow.’

She gave him a gentle thump and left him. Before going to bed she went to the window to enjoy the view over the little canal. Below, she could just make out a small pavement with steps leading down into the water. A man’s voice seemed to be coming from inside. He sounded angry.

Suddenly a door was flung open and the man came out. From a little way above Sally could just see that he was tall, dark, in his mid-thirties, with a face that might have been handsome but for the fierce, uncompromising look it bore. He was speaking Italian, which she couldn’t understand until he snapped, ‘Lei parla come un idiota.’

I guess I know what that means, she thought. He’s calling someone an idiot. Not a guy you’d want to meet on a dark night. He’s probably the bouncer.

The man stormed back into the building, slamming the door. Sally closed the window and went to bed.

That night it rained. By morning the rain had stopped, leaving the streets wet and glistening. They spent the day discovering Venice, wandering through narrow alleys that inspired the imaginative side of Charlie’s nature.

‘All these twists and turns,’ he enthused. ‘If you were following someone in secret they’d never know you were there. Or if you were trying to avoid them you could dart out of sight often, then dart back again.’

‘You’re just a naturally tricky character.’ She laughed.

‘Well, it can come in handy,’ he agreed, not at all offended by being called tricky.

They found where to board the vaporetto for a trip along the Grand Canal, which was followed by a visit to the Rialto Bridge. Finally they took a water taxi down a narrow canal.

‘I will set you down just there, where the canal ends,’ the driver said, ‘and from there it’s just a short walk to St Mark’s.’

At last they reached the Piazza St Marco. One end was dominated by a huge, decorative cathedral, while around the sides were dozen of shops and cafés with tables outside.

‘Let’s sit out here,’ she said.

‘Wouldn’t it be warmer inside?’ Charlie protested.

‘It’s not too cold and I like sitting outside and watching the world go by, especially in a place like this—so many people, so much happening. But you can go inside.’

‘And look like a sissy while my sister sits out here?’ he asked with a grin. ‘No, thank you.’

They found a table and ordered coffee, glancing around them as they sipped it.

‘Oh, look,’ Sally said suddenly. ‘That lovely dog.’

She’d fixed her eyes on a brown and white springer spaniel bouncing around, enjoying the puddles.

‘It’s so nice to see them having fun,’ she said.

‘You’re a sucker for dogs,’ Charlie observed. ‘If you love them so much I can’t think why you don’t have one.’

‘Because I’d have to leave him alone so much. It wouldn’t be kind. You never knew Jacko, did you?’

‘The dog you had before I was born?’

‘That’s right. I adored him. He had a terrific personality, just like that one over there. Bouncing everywhere, demanding attention.’ She struck a dramatic attitude. ‘Wuff! Look at me! That’s what he’s saying.’ She turned to the dog, who had come close enough to hear her. ‘Yes, all right, I’m looking at you. You’re beautiful.’

His ears perked, his face lit up, and the next moment he was flying towards her, bouncing into her lap, sending her coffee flying over her clothes.

‘Hey, look at your jacket!’ Charlie exclaimed.

‘Oh, heavens! Well, never mind. It’s only a jacket. It was my fault for calling him.’

‘And he’s covered you with wet paw prints.’

Suddenly a scream tore the air. ‘Toby! Toby!’

A young boy was dashing across the piazza towards them, waving his arms and screeching. Just behind him was a middle-aged woman, also running, her face dark with thunder.

‘Toby!’ the child shrieked. ‘Vieni qui!’

He reached Sally and flung his arms around the dog so fiercely that she was knocked off balance and would have crashed to the ground if Charlie hadn’t seized her just in time.

The woman began a tirade in Italian. Without understanding the words Sally gathered that she was furious and her manner towards the animal was alarming.

‘It’s all right,’ Sally said firmly. ‘It was an accident, not his fault.’

Hearing her speak English, the woman responded in the same language.

‘He’s a bad dog,’ she said. ‘He’s never been disciplined properly and it’s time something was done about him.’

‘No!’ the child screamed, tightening his arms around the animal. ‘He’s not bad.’

‘Of course he’s bad,’ the woman said. ‘Signor, mi appello a voi.’

The man she appealed to seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Looking up, Sally thought she recognised him as the man she’d seen at the hotel the night before. But it had been so dark that she found it hard to be sure.

‘Papa!’ the little boy screamed.

So this grim, scowling creature was the father of the boy. Only a swift response would help now. She confronted him.

‘It’s all a misunderstanding,’ she said, praying that he spoke English. ‘I don’t know how much you saw—’

‘I saw the dog hurl himself at you and cover you with mud,’ he said in a voice that brooked no nonsense.

‘He’s just affectionate. It was my fault for calling out to him. He was being friendly.’

To her relief he nodded. ‘That’s generous of you. Thank you. Are you hurt?’

‘Not at all. It’s not his fault that it’s been raining.’ She patted the furry head. ‘You can’t help it raining, can you?’

‘Wuff!’

‘There, you see. He agrees with me.’

The boy gave a chuckle. The man’s face relaxed and he laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. The only person not pleased was the woman. The man spoke a few words to her in Italian. She glared and walked off.

‘She hates Toby,’ the boy complained.

‘How could anybody hate him?’ Sally said. ‘He’s gorgeous.’

‘He makes a mess of the house,’ the man said. ‘Usually in a place she’s just cleaned. Pietro, I think you have an apology to make.’

The child nodded, took a deep breath and faced her, with his arm protectively around Toby. ‘We’re sorry for what happened, signorina.’

‘It’s all right. Sometimes accidents just happen, one after another.’ She leaned down to the dog. ‘As long as Toby isn’t hurt.’

As if to answer Toby licked her face. In response, she bumped her nose against his. Pietro giggled in delight. Toby promptly licked her again, then turned to Charlie, who received his attention with pleasure.

‘While they’re occupied, allow me to buy you a coffee,’ the man said. ‘Then I will escort you back to your hotel. And of course I will pay for your clothes to be cleaned.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘At the Billioni Hotel.’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Actually I think I saw you there last night. You were calling someone an idiot. Are you the manager?’

‘I’m the owner.’

‘Oh—er—well, it’s a very nice hotel.’

‘But it still needs some work. You don’t have to be tactful.’ He offered his hand. ‘My name is Damiano Ferrone.’

‘I’m Sally Franklin.’ They shook hands cordially.

‘And the young man with you? Your husband?’

‘Goodness no. He’s barely grown up. That’s Charlie, my brother.’

‘And you are here on holiday together?’

‘Yes, we decided to explore the world a little. I know most people don’t take holidays in January—’

‘But Venice is beautiful all the year round. We get many visitors in winter. But perhaps you regret the rain.’

His glance indicated the damp paw marks on her jacket.

‘I don’t regret anything that lets me meet such a gorgeous dog,’ she said. ‘I just love them.’

‘So I saw. You immediately became my son’s favourite person.’

They laughed together. It was remarkable, she thought, how his face, though formed in stern lines, softened when he spoke of the child.

‘Does his mother mind the muddy paw marks?’ she asked.

‘He has no mother. My first wife died giving birth to him nine years ago. He used to have a stepmother but she left us.’

‘Doesn’t she ever come back to see him?’

‘Never.’

‘Does he mind? I mean—were they close?’

‘Not really, but she was the only mother he’d ever known, so he clung to her. But when our marriage ended—’

A shriek of laughter interrupted them and made them turn to where the others were playing.

‘I remember when I had a dog just like that,’ she mused. ‘Full of vim and wanting to be the centre of attention all the time.’

‘He belonged to Pietro’s real mother. He’s the only legacy he has of her.’

‘So of course he treasures him. Yes, over here!’ She raised her voice as Toby raced back towards her, hurling himself once more into her arms while Pietro jumped up and down with delight. Damiano smiled fondly at the sight of his child’s happiness.

‘I think Toby is trying to tell you something,’ he observed.

‘Well, he certainly seems to like me,’ she ventured.

‘Enough to invite you to our house this evening for dinner—as a way of apologising for ruining your clothes. Please say you’ll come.’

Pietro looked up into her face, nodding eagerly, and she guessed he was the one Damiano was trying to please.

‘We’d love to come,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t we, Charlie?’

‘Sure, fine.’

‘I’ll just go back to the hotel and change,’ she said.

‘There’s no need,’ Damiano declared.

‘But look at the mess Toby’s left me in,’ she said, comically indicating the paw marks. She put her face close to the dog’s. ‘This is all your fault.’

‘He’s very sorry,’ Pietro said, ‘and he’ll make it up to you at dinner. But you must come with us now.’ He nudged Toby. ‘Tell her she’s got to come now.’

‘Wuff!’

‘Well, if Toby commands, I can’t refuse.’ She laughed.

It was the right answer. Both Pietro and his father beamed. And Sally found herself overtaken by a sense of exhilaration, caused by the sheer unexpectedness of the situation. For someone who spent her life analysing figures and making careful plans there was strange delight in being swept away without warning. When Damiano offered her his arm she took it with pleasure.

From St Mark’s Piazza it was a short journey to the water, where they found a taxi that took them along the Grand Canal.

‘Is your home far?’ she asked.

‘You can see it now.’

She gaped at the sight of the building that they were nearing. Knowing he was rich enough to own a hotel, she’d expected a substantial home, but this was huge and elaborate.

‘There?’ She gasped. ‘But it looks like a palace.’

‘It’s a hotel.’

‘Another one of yours?’

‘Yes, I own it. I live in the building next door.’

His home was smaller than the hotel but still impressive, with a broad stairway leading up from the great hall to the upper floors, where tall, decorative windows let in the light.

Bustling towards them was the woman who’d been in St Mark’s.