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Lies, all lies. Standing beneath the imposing marble altarpiece in the sight of God and all his plaster saints as he slid the plain gold band onto Lily’s slender finger, Tristan wondered savagely what punishments would be visited on him for this blasphemy.
There was always a punishment. He had learned that from a very early age.
The priest was talking to Lily now, enunciating slowly and precisely, and Tristan kept his eyes fixed on the face of a particularly stern looking angel on a gilded plinth as she began to repeat his words in slow, halting Spanish.
Her voice was soft, but it seemed to carry into the high, draughty spaces of the ancient church as she made her promises of faith and love. Empty promises, he reminded himself derisively, but glancing at the priest, and across at the woman doing the flowers, he could tell that they were listening with rapt attention, all openly affected by the tenderness in Lily’s voice. Even the old man with the rosary was watching them, his lined face curiously sad.
Tristan looked away again. Staring blankly at the face of that same damned angel, his face a hard, scowling mask from behind which he was forced to act out this charade for the sake of his family name, his blood and his history.
And then she touched him.
As she spoke the words that would bind them together she raised her hand and pressed it to his cheek.
Instantly he felt heat melt the brittle carapace as his gaze was dragged back to hers. Her eyes were like moonlight, gentle and yet so bright it hurt him to look at them, and their soft luminescence seemed to reach into the darkest places inside his head. As she reached the end of her vows there was a moment’s pause while the echo of her breathless, slightly hesitant voice died away in the ancient church. But the spell cast by its tenderness remained.
In that silence Tristan bent his head slowly and brought his mouth down on hers in the lightest of kisses.
It was a gesture, nothing more. Part of the act, to satisfy the romantic notions of their small audience, and yet as his lips brushed hers he felt every nerve and sinew in his body tauten as fire blazed through them. He heard the sharp gasp of indrawn breath, felt her arch towards him, parting her lips to welcome his. The rose she held fell to the floor as she slid both hands around the back of his neck so that she was cradling his head; gentle, generous, loving, and the kiss wasn’t a gesture any more.
It was hot and real.
As if from a great distance Tristan heard the sound of applause. It broke into the dark and private world to which they had retreated, pulling them back into reality. He felt Lily’s smile against his lips as she gently disentangled herself from his hold, then she ducked her head and dropped to her knees, gathering up her little flower girl and hugging her. Father Angelico shook Tristan’s hand, and then waited until Lily had finished hugging the girl’s mother before leaning across and kissing her on both cheeks.
Everyone was damp-eyed and smiling.
Except him, of course. Everyone except him.
Darkness had fallen properly outside, and the light from the lamps on either side of the church door made puddles of gold on the wet cobblestones in the square. The crisp, cold evening was filled with the delicious scent of garlic from the hotel restaurant opposite.
Tristan let go of her hand the moment they were out of the church, and Lily felt the little flare of hope that had leapt inside her when he had kissed her fade. Her throat felt thick with the vows she’d just made, her chest tight with the enormity of what she had done. For her baby.
That was what she had to hang onto. This was a practical arrangement for the baby. The blistering heat that had turned her insides into a churning volcano of molten longing when Tristan had kissed her had nothing whatsoever to do with it.
He held out to her the rose she had dropped. She took it, unable to look up at him in case he read the shameful need in her face. ‘So what happens now?’
He tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and walked over to the fountain. ‘I think that wedding nights traditionally involve considerable amounts of both champagne and passion,’ he said blandly. ‘However, ours was hardly a traditional wedding.’
Disappointment sliced through her.
‘No,’ she said, unable to entirely keep the sadness from her voice as she followed him and sat on the stone rim of the fountain. ‘Or a traditional marriage.’
‘Second thoughts, Marquesa?
His use of the unfamiliar title made her raise her head in surprise. He was standing in front of her, looking down at her, his eyes gleaming in the lamplight. But it was his mouth that held her attention—his sculpted, sensuous mouth, which she hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking at all through their brief wedding service. He had a particular way of moving his lips when he spoke that made it look as if he were caressing the words, or saying something indecently sensual even when his voice was quite cold.
‘Yes,’ she said fiercely.
His brows swooped downwards in a scowl, and he opened his mouth to make some stinging retort. Swiftly she reached up and put her fingers against his mouth, silencing him.
‘Yes,’ she repeated in a whisper. ‘But not about the wedding. About what kind of marriage this is going to be.’
For a moment his face was blank with bewilderment, but then realisation dawned in his eyes, so that their blackness seemed to deepen and intensify. Slowly, wordlessly, he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘You’re sure? It’s what you want, even though—’
‘I know. I thought I couldn’t bear to take you into my bed… into my body…and know that you don’t love me. I thought I could never do that, but now I know that I can’t bear not to. I’m sure it’s what I want.’ She rose up onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his ear, breathing in the clean masculine scent of his hair as she mouthed, ‘And I want it right now…’
‘Well, then…’ he said in a voice that made her spine melt with longing as he slipped his hands beneath the cashmere wrap, beneath the little top she wore under it. Lily gasped as they met her bare skin and slowly moved upwards, covering her breasts so that her nipples sprang up against his palms. ‘It’s just as well there’s a decent hotel just over there.’
Taking hold of her hand, he began to walk quickly across the square. ‘Have you booked a room?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘No, but I don’t think that’ll be a problem.’
‘But it’s a weekend…’
Tristan stopped, looking at her thought fully for a second, his beautiful face grave.
‘Lily, you have a lot to learn about being a Romero. It has many, many draw backs…’ he kissed her lingeringly on the mouth ‘…so you just have to learn to make the most of the advantages. Believe me, they’ll find us a room.’
‘Great Aunt Agatha simply cannot be seated anywhere near the Duchess of Cranthorpe, any of Tom’s university friends, or anyone who’s ever played lacrosse for Cheltenham Ladies’ College first team. I know it’s awkward, but we cannot risk a scene like the one at the Talbot-Hesketh wedding last year…’ Lady Montague adjusted her spectacles and peered at the vast roll of paper on the breakfast table, weighted down at one end by the silver coffee pot and by the sugar tongs at the other. ‘I think if we put her on a table with…’
The names of Great Aunt Agatha’s hapless dinner companions remained a mystery as a burst of electronic noise from Tom’s mobile phone interrupted his mother. Apologising, he picked it up and read the text message that had just come through.
‘It’s from Tristan.’ Tom frowned, reading out the message in a tone of deep bewilderment. ‘“One circuit of the moat, this morning. Naked. Photographic evidence required.”’
Neither Scarlet nor Lady Montague looked up from the seating plan. ‘What is he talking about?’ said Scarlet vaguely.
‘No idea…’ Tom’s frown deepened. ‘Unless…’
At that moment Scarlet’s phone let out a trill that made them all jump. But not as much as the shriek of astonishment that she gave a second later as she read the message that had just come through.
Tristan and I got married last night.
Will be in touch soon to explain all.
In the meantime, please try to be happy.
I am.
Love L x
CHAPTER NINE
‘OK. SO, explain.’
Leaning against the wall of the hotel room, Lily stifled both a sigh and the urge to hang up the phone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Scarlet, it was just she wasn’t sure where to start. How to explain.
‘I’m pregnant.’
As she said the words she felt the swirling mist of confusion lift a little and certainty flow back into her. That, after all, was the reason at the heart of all that had happened. A shaft of pure sunlight in the midst of the fog.
‘Oh, Lily!’ Scarlet’s tone was warm, but Lily could hear its edge of anxiety and reproach. ‘That’s wonderful. I mean, really wonderful…but, darling—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Is Tristan there?’
‘No. He went out a little while ago.’ She didn’t know where. Or why, or who with. He had offered no explanation and she had asked for none. Those were the terms that he had laid down at the outset and Lily understood that she had to abide by them. No matter how hard.
