He was trying to save face for her. He knew he had hurt her. Her teeth gritted at the awareness of what he was doing but it scared her that he should read her so accurately even after four years.
'I don't embarrass that easily.' But she did. The revealing clothes that would glorify the female body and the sensuously sinful lingerie were all so foreign and threatening to her that she shrank at the very idea of wearing them. It would be as though she was colluding with Vito, encouraging him to treat her as some brainless little sex object whose one goal in life was to please her lord and master.
'The remainder of your possessions are in there.' He indicated a box in the corner. It was full to the brim with photo albums, diaries, the really personal possessions that she would have missed.
'Who went through it all?' 'I did.'
The admission didn't bother her the way she felt it should have. Vito never pried. Vito had always respected her privacy. She had kept a diary since she was twelve and she couldn't break the habit. She had never worried that Vito couldn't be trusted in the vicinity of the written truth of her secret thoughts. Yes, she conceded dully, she had always trusted Vito not to let her down, not to betray her. That was why she had been so savaged, so destroyed by his marriage to Carina. He had told her that he loved her, that he would always love her, that, no matter what she did, that love would always be there, and, fool that she was, she had begun to believe, she had begun to listen. It had just been words, and words were cheap. But Ashley hadn't known that when he'd walked out. She had really truly believed then that Vito loved her and that, no matter how bad things were between them, he would be back once his hot temper cooled. Instead he had married another woman, scarring Ashley so deeply with that ultimate betrayal that she didn't believe she would ever have the courage to love anyone ever again.
'If we're to make dinner before the opera, you'd better get changed.' 'Why don't you pick something for me?' she enquired acidly. 'That's what you do with a Barbie doll.'
Unconcerned by the taunt, he tossed a black evening gown on the bed like a statement. It was a gorgeous dress. The fabric was shot through with superb gold embroidery. It must have cost him a fortune.
'There's something you ought to know before you marry me,' she said abruptly.
'Last week we made an agreement.' In spite of the quiet intonation, hard determination emanated from the brilliant dark eyes raking her pale face. 'I kept my side of the deal and I have every intention of ensuring that you keep yours.'
'I won't be able to give you a child!' The pained admission was ripped from her constricted throat.
'You mean that you're not prepared to give me one.' His hard features were curiously shuttered, his tone raw edged. For a second time she was assailed by that appalling suspicion. Could he know about her previous pregnancy? She searched his flat dark eyes, found nothing there and hurriedly put her fears down to nervous paranoia. He couldn't possibly know, she told herself again.
'No, that's not what I mean. In my family-' she hesitated and then forced herself to continue '-we're not very efficient at producing children. Susan hasn't even bothered to try. My mother may have had three children but she had to go through eleven miscarriages to get them-'
'Distressing as this information is, I really don't see what it has to do with us-'
'Send me to a doctor, then!' Ashley cut in wildly. 'I bet he tells you that I'm a very poor bet!'
Vito's mouth curled with something akin to revulsion. 'You're not a brood mare, you're a woman. I wouldn't dream of sending you to a doctor. If it doesn't happen for us, it doesn't happen, but let us at least give nature a chance.'
'You won't listen to me, will you?' she whispered. 'I think you will do and say anything to escape marrying me.'
She worried at her lower lip with her teeth and looked up to find Vito's golden gaze clinging to her soft, full mouth with blatant sexual intensity. Her skin dampened betrayingly. With difficulty she dredged her eyes from his. 'And… and doesn't that bother you?'
'Not in the slightest,' he countered huskily. 'I have what I want.' As the door slid quietly shut on his exit, Ashley shivered, suddenly cold. Yes, he had her in the very palm of his hand, and if she was very, very good he might be reasonable, but if she was bad, if she continued to fight, he would close that hard hand of his into a fist, because if there was one thing Vito did not excel at, it was patience.
She had a quick shower in the adjoining bathroom. Sliding into the clinging embrace of the black gown, she sat down at the dressing-table and ran a brush through her rippling swath of hair. She didn't want to look at herself. The expensive fabric skimmed and lovingly shaped the perfect curves Vito was so determined to put on show. Oddly enough,.she had been wearing black the night they first met as well…
And suddenly she was back there on New Year's Eve at the start of the evening that had derailed her entire life. She had been alone and, let's face it, she thought, feeling pretty sorry for herself. All her flatmates were at home with their families but Ashley had had an appalling row with her father on Boxing Day. The next morning, wallowing in guilt at the sight of her mother's reddened eyes; she had caught the train back to London, conscious that once she was gone her father would cool down again.
One of her flatmates' friends had landed on the doorstep – Phoebe, the deb type, who was just putting in her time at university until a suitable young man popped that all-important question. She had had an invitation to a big party. Another girl had let her down and she hadn't wanted to go alone.
It was the most important party of the year, Phoebe had pleaded, and all these fabulously rich, important people would be there and her poor mother had gone to such agonising lengths to get her that invitation. Amused by her drama, Ashley had decided that it would be fun to see how the upper ten per cent of society entertained themselves. Phoebe had loaned her the proverbial little black dress and all the trimmings. And Ashley had been unwillingly fascinated by the seductive stranger she saw in the mirror.
'Gosh, you look incredibly eye-catching.' Phoebe had frowned. 'Jill would have been less competition.'
In the taxi, Phoebe had also lent her words of wisdom. 'Don't say you're a student. It sounds too brainy. Say you're a secretary or something and don't whatever you do admit your age. Teenies aren't in great demand.'
It had been a private party in a Mayfair hotel and twenty minutes into the evening Phoebe had met up with the male she had come to meet and had disappeared into the crush. Ashley had been engulfed by eager young men and several glasses of champagne later she had been reaping a vicarious thrill from all the attention she was receiving. She had had few nights out during her first term at university. Her father had kept her so short of money that she had had to work every free hour she could steal from her studies as a waitress to make ends meet.
When the tiger lily was delivered, she had been catching her breath at a table. 'That can't be for me,' she had said.
'For the lady at table twenty-two,' the waiter had insisted.
A magnum of pink champagne had arrived next. Her male companion had started to become annoyed. 'What's going on?' he had bleated. 'Is this some sort of send-up?'
'Someone's made a mistake.' She had fingered the opulent little box containing the tiger lily, dismayed to discover that something perilously close to mushy romanticism was making her resent the knowledge that the flamboyant gifts could not possibly be for her.
'What the hell do you want now?' her companion had demanded when the grinning waiter reappeared a third time. He had deposited a business card in front of her with a theatrical flourish.
'The gentleman would like you to join him, madam.' 'Is he in a wheelchair?'
'No, madam. He's seated at table three,' he had replied, deadpan.
She had glanced at the name, crunched up the card and dropped it in the ashtray, fighting the pull of her own fascination. It was her companion who had rescued the card and turned a sort of puce shade. 'Vito di Cavalieri?'
Ashley had screened a yawn. 'I've never heard of him.'
'I've never come across anyone who hasn't heard of Vito di Cavalieri.' He had looked at her as though he suspected she was a gatecrasher.
'I bet he's his own best publicist.'
His jaw had thrust out. 'He has a very bad reputation with women.'
'But what does he look like?' Little quivers of excitement had been leaping shamelessly through her veins at the style Vito had employed to introduce himself.
'Somebody else can damned well play Cupid!' he had snapped, and stormed off.
Curiosity had been eating her alive. She had sauntered up the steps from the dance-floor, striving to appear unconcerned, meaning only to steal a covert glance on her way to the cloakroom. But the covert glance had become
