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So she’d sought out Ago—who, while ferociously unyielding in all ways was still more approachable than her father—and told him that she couldn’t possibly marry a man who was so recklessly and publicly in love with another woman.
I don’t have a tremendous ego, she had told him, smiling serenely despite the fact that standing so close to the man, the singular focus of his intense gaze, had made her...sweat.The nuns in the convent made sure of that. But I really must draw the line somewhere.
That was the first time Ago had looked at her with all of that brooding, seething disappointment.
And somehow, she hadn’t run away. She hadn’t laughed, the way she’d been unable to keep herself from doing tonight.
Instead, her heart had done something astonishing in her chest while her stomach had seemed to plummet down to find the hem of her festive gown where it hit the floor. She had sucked in a breath, not sure where that riot inside of her had come from.
It would be all well and good if he was in love with no one, including me, she had told Ago, who had continued to stare down at her in such dark disapproval.But to marry a man who’s obviouslycapableof love? And, in fact,inlove with someone else? I’m afraid I can’t do it.
Love, Miss Cameron, Ago had replied in freezing tones that the hint of Italy in his voice did nothing to melt,is for silly teenage girls and foolish poets. I was led to believe you were a woman of sense.
I have enough sense to step out of the path of a speeding train, I hope, Victoria had replied with sheer bravado, because she’d been standing stock-still as she stared up at Ago Accardi, hadn’t she?Because it’s all very well to stand about talkingof these bloodless marriages. But at the end of the day, it’s still my life. And I have no illusions about the kind of life my father wants for me, Mr. Accardi. But I do still have to live it.
The band had been playing Christmas standards and she’d felt them swell all around her as she’d stood there, lost somewhere in the darkest, most tumultuous blue of Ago’s gaze.
And when she thought back, that was all she could remember of that conversation. It wasn’t at all clear to her how she’d survived it.
Which was funny, because her father had spent the whole of that Christmas and well into the New Year, soundly abusing her for failing to catch Tiziano’s interest. She shouldn’t have remembered anything having to do with Ago Accardi with anything but a little bit of distaste and an overarching sense of injustice.
And then, of course, there had been that night at her uncle’s house. When she’d been enjoying what passed for her freedom in those days by wandering around the gardens that evening, only to come face-to-face with him.
She still shuddered, thinking of it.
And what she’d discovered over the past week was that, left to her own devices, those were the moments she dwelled upon. Set free at last from all these men who worked so hard to keep her in this or that box of their choosing, she returned to those moments again and again. She still found herself going back to the gala. To that first moment in the garden.
To this impossible, immovable mountain of a man who should have scared her—but the way he made her shiver had nothing to do with fear.
Particularly not when she had increasingly had such scalding dreams, night after night, of exactly how she’d come to find herself pregnant.
Now, standing in this hotel room in Rome, she was happy that she’d spent so many hours over the past week familiarizing herself with all things Ago. It made her feel a little less at sea in his presence when she knew full well he’d had whole dossiers onher. And she didn’t need anyone to tell her that it was best to have as many weapons as possible when facing a man like this. She knew.
She liked to think she’d always known.
All of this stormed through her, with and without the uncontrollable laughter, in the moments afterhedared to tellherthatshewas not to be trusted.
“You set out your expectations for our marriage, I’ll agree,” she said carefully, testing to see if her body would betray her and set her laughing out her panic anew. Had he really suggested he thought there was something salvageable in exiling her in a country that wasn’t even her own? “But I have expectations of my own, Ago. And I see no particular reason why yours should take precedence.”
“Do you not?” he asked, again in tones of the deepest, affronted amazement. Tones that she thought did not quite match the way he looked at her, in a manner that made her very nearly breathless—and reminded her too much of the garden that night. “I did not take you for a simpleton, Victoria.”
She didn’t react to that, but only because she had the distinct sense that he wanted her to. “We both know that my father’s only goal was to sell me. I know he used other terms, but at the end of the day, that’s what he was about. There’s no point pretending otherwise.”
“I have never pretended a day in my life.” And again, despite what he said, all she could hear in his voice were echoes of that night. As if he was fighting with himself, somewhere deep inside. Maybe she only wished he was. “I would like it if you could extend me the same courtesy.”
“I’m not pretending anything. But this isn’t the situation my father expected to marry me into.” She put her hands on her belly, in case he had somehow missed it, rounding out between them. And perhaps because she wanted to remind him how, exactly, this had come to pass. “I’m not going to blame you for what happened between us in that garden—”
“I should certainly hope not.” This time, his voice had become a dark growl, so that all she could think of was the sound of that growl at her ear while he moved inside her. “Because my distinct recollection is that you were the one who threw yourself at me.”
“And you are Ago Accardi,” she replied, shaking her head at him. “I doubt it’s possible for you to spend any time at all in public without women flinging themselves at you. If you’d wanted to set me aside, I feel certain you could have. And would have.”
Once again, memories of that night seemed to flare between them. The way she had surged into his arms, overwhelmed yetalight, and determined that no matter what happened, she would not allow the moment to pass. She would not take another breath without tasting something more than the same old stale air of the cage she’d lived in all her life...
She was certain he was remembering the very same thing.
She could see the same flare of heat and need in his gaze.
But his voice was cool. “The fact remains that I was not the one who started us down this path, Victoria.”
