had to put him right on that. But Rafe wasn’t interested in listening to her. All he cared about was the sound of his own voice.
‘Well, you may have just done me a favour too, in the end, so I reckon we’ll just call it quits.’
And then, to her total shock and consternation, he did the last thing she had expected. Looking straight into her face, he actually smiled, though it was the most peculiar, most alien smile that Amber had ever seen. It hadn’t touched his eyes, which had remained as cold and ice-blue as a frozen floe in the Arctic.
‘At least with my heart having been broken so publicly this way,’ he went on, resting one long-fingered hand on the breast pocket of his elegant jacket just above where the heart in question lay, ‘no one will expect me to even think about marrying another woman for some time. And that suits me perfectly. So enjoy your Italian, darling—and I’ll enjoy my freedom.’
And with an airy wave he was gone, stepping swiftly into the lift and shutting the door right in her face.
Amber was still standing staring at the polished lift doors in shock, when the second lift just near by arrived at the second floor, opened, and Guido stepped out onto the green-carpeted corridor. A dark frown creased the space between his brows when he saw her.
‘You’re not ready. You’ve not even started to get changed.’
Guido’s tone was sharp and, coming on top of her private thoughts, it caught right on a raw edge of an exposed nerve.
‘Just because I’m your wife, it doesn’t mean I have to jump when you click your fingers.’
And then, because it was the question that was uppermost in her mind, the one that just wouldn’t stop fretting at her thoughts—
‘Why, Guido? Tell me why.’
At least he had the grace not to pretend he didn’t know what she meant. But he moved to unlock the door to her room, taking her by the arm and hurrying her into it before he stopped to answer her.
‘I told you—I wanted them to see you were with me. That you’re my wife.’
Amber crossed to the big, high, king-sized bed and sank down on it with a long, low sigh that was a blend of exhaustion and total despair
‘Wouldn’t the pictures in the paper tomorrow—and your “statement” tonight—have done the job as well?’
‘I don’t think so. I wanted them to see it with their own eyes. And I wanted to see their faces when I did so.’
‘You mean that you wanted to parade me in front of them like some sort of trophy!’
‘If you choose to see it that way,’ Guido dismissed her anger carelessly.
‘And what possible other way is there to see it?’
‘That I wanted to make sure they never got their hands on you again.’
‘Did you really think that after what happened, Rafe would even consider asking me to marry him again?’ Amber couldn’t hide her incredulity and it rang sharply in her voice.
‘He’ll have to come through me first.’
‘Well, from the way that Rafe just behaved I have very little doubt that isn’t going to happen.’
‘The way that…’
Guido’s head went back, his eyes narrowing sharply.
‘Has he said something?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Hurt you?’
‘Hurt me? No, he didn’t hurt me but…I think I need to talk to him.’
‘No!’
Moving further into the room, Guido kicked the door behind him, heard it slam and the lock click into place. ‘You will not speak to St Clair!’
But his tone had been too hard, his attitude too forceful. He could see it in the way that her chin came up, defiance flashing in her eyes, her jaw firming stubbornly.
‘And why not?’
‘Because I asked you to come up here to change your clothes so that we could leave as soon as possible.’
‘You didn’t ask—you ordered.’
‘And you really want to spend the rest of the day dressed up like a pantomime princess.’
‘You don’t like this dress?’
He’d intrigued her now and he welcomed the way it distracted her thoughts from wandering down paths he didn’t want her to follow. She smoothed a hand over the silken skirts of her wedding gown, frowning thoughtfully.
‘It’s very beautiful,’ Amber said.
‘I preferred the dress you wore for our wedding.’
‘That simple thing? It was just something I’d picked up from a chain store.’
But she’d looked amazing in it. She had looked so sweet and innocent, excited and yet nervous, anticipating her wedding day with such joy that it was just bubbling out of her. At least, that was what he had thought at first.
It was only later that he had realised how much she regretted what she had done, when a better opportunity—a more aristocratic suitor—a wealthier suitor, she believed—had come along.
‘This is a designer original—it cost a small fortune. I would never have been able to afford it by myself, of course. But Rafe offered to pay for it…’
‘He did what?’
It was the last thing Guido wanted to hear. He detested the idea of anything that man had provided touching her. The thought of Rafe St Clair sent his blood pressure spiking, made him feel nauseous with fury. Though that was nothing to the way he had felt when he had first learned just whom St Clair planned to marry.
But then, why was he surprised? Hadn’t she left him for just that sort of reason? Because she wanted the sort of man who could provide her with designer originals? He had never been more thankful that he hadn’t told her the full truth about himself. If he had, then she might have stayed with him for all the wrong reasons.
‘Take it off!’
‘What?’ Her eyes widened in shock.
‘Take that dress off.’
‘With you standing there?’ Amber shook her head sharply. ‘No way! At least have the decency to leave the room.’
If he went out that door, he wouldn’t stop until he found St Clair and ripped his head from his shoulders, the way he was feeling right now. Fighting the urge to do just that, Guido flung himself down in the chair that stood in the wide bay window.
‘I’m your husband and there’s nothing I haven’t seen. Take it off, Amber, or I’ll tear it off you myself.’
The look she flung him was one of total loathing but he let it bounce off the shield of restraint he had put up around himself. Whether Amber liked it or not, staying was definitely the safer option.
Or was it?
With another blazing, fulminating glare in his direction, Amber got to her feet and deliberately turned her back on him. Once again he was presented with the view of her he had seen as he entered the church. And once again he knew the twisting, primitive hunger low down in his gut.
It was worse this time. Worse in so many ways.
Then he had only seen her back view, in the white silk dress, with the long lace veil falling down from the crown of her head. He hadn’t seen her, hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t touched her for months. But the long-ago memories had been bad enough.
Now he had newer memories to add to those long-ago ones. Now he was tormented by the recollection of how it had felt to hold her in his arms, to know the soft, warm pressure of her slender frame up against his; how it had felt to kiss