A Sicilian Marriage. Michelle Reid

jaw and drank.

      Ritual rules, he mused as he stared out at the deepening sunset. Give her a minute or two and she was going to find an excuse to get up and leave the room.

      Only this time he was going to stop her. This time he was going to stop the rot taking place in this room by bringing her—screaming and kicking if necessary—out of hiding and into reality.

      His stomach warmed as the cognac reached it, and somewhere else inside him a different sensation gathered pace. The call to battle. He had wrecked this beautiful creature once, and now it was time to put her back together again.

      With a bit of luck she would give him a chance to fortify himself with brandy before battle commenced, he mused wryly, unaware that the subject of his thoughts was already struggling to stay where she was.

      CHAPTER THREE

      TIMING was everything, Nina was reminding herself as she sat there fighting the urge to get up and go.

      It was part of the ritual Rafael had developed, aimed to hide the true sickness in their relationship from the servants. He always came directly to her room when he arrived home, and stayed long enough to consume a measure of cognac. He always asked her if she wanted to join him in a glass and she always refused. After a suitable length of time one of them—usually her—would make up an excuse to leave.

      But today was different. Today he had come in here wearing the shadow of another woman’s kiss on his lips, and there was no way she could sit here playing this the way it usually played out. She either said something, or left. It came down to those two options, she told herself tautly.

      Rafael turned. ‘Nina, we need to talk—’

      ‘Sorry.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going for a shower.’

      ‘Later,’ he frowned. ‘This is important. I want to—’

      ‘So is my shower,’ she cut in. ‘Y-you should have warned me you were coming home, then I could have told you that I am out tonight.’

      ‘Your grandfather’s birthday—I know.’ He nodded. ‘That is what I want to talk to you about.’

      Not Marisia? ‘Why? What has he done now?’ she asked, in the wary voice of one who knew her devious grandparent well.

      ‘Nothing,’ Rafael said. ‘I have not heard from him in several weeks. He is not the reason why I—’

      ‘Then he’s up to something.’ Nina cut in on him yet again. A sigh escaped her. ‘I suppose I had better try and find out what so I can—’

      ‘I would prefer that you didn’t…’

      Just the way he said that was enough to put her nerve-ends on edge. Her chin came up. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ she demanded, finding herself suddenly in danger of almost—almost making contact with his eyes. She looked away again—quickly.

      If he noticed her avoiding gesture he kept it to himself. ‘It means,’ he murmured levelly, ‘that I already know what he’s up to, so you don’t need to get involved.’

      ‘He’s my grandfather, Rafael. I have a right to know what he’s doing if it means—’

      ‘Not when it involves money, you don’t,’ he responded. ‘That is my territory.’

      The implication in that certainly hit where it hurt. ‘Then I won’t,’ she answered stiffly. ‘Taking care of my family is why I married you, after all. Thank you for reminding me.’

      ‘I did not mean it like that.’ He uttered a short sigh. ‘I simply meant that I am able to handle him better if you don’t interfere!’

      Well, there you go, Nina thought. You are an interfering wife, as well as a useless, faithless, traitorous one. Things are on the move—hence the reintroduction of Marisia into his life, she supposed.

      ‘I did not come home early to fight with you over your grandfather. I have something I need to tell you before—’

      Time to leave, she decided. ‘Tell me later.’ Spinning away, she began walking quickly towards the bathroom, her spine tingling out a mocking challenge to the cowardly way she was retreating from this.

      ‘Take a very healthy piece of advice, mi amore and don’t do it…’

      It was the silken edge to his voice that brought her to a wary standstill, with her fingers already gripping the handle to the bathroom door. Past experience with that tone warned her to beware—because the silkier Rafael’s voice became the more dangerous he became. If she dared to open this door now then he would not hesitate to react.

      ‘OK.’ She turned, slender shoulders pressing back against the door. ‘Say what you have to say,’ she invited.

      He was still standing by the window, so his face was shadowed by the sunset coming from behind him. But she could see the tension in his jawline; could feel