look suggested that throwing her over his shoulder and storming off might cause a far bigger one.
‘You’re probably right,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘So be quick. Just sling on your jeans and let’s go.’
Jumping out of bed, Emily tore into her dressing room and, reaching into the very back of the wardrobe, where she had managed to conceal them from the army of wardrobe mistresses who had taken control of her clothes, she pulled out her jeans.
But the position of Princess came with conditions attached. One of the most onerous was that her appearance should never give cause for gossip or alarm. Discounting the crumpled denims out of hand, she grabbed a smart pair of navy trousers and a short-sleeved white blouse. They would do, Emily decided, gathering up her hair and securing it with a band and a couple of clips.
‘Ready?’ Alessandro said, barely looking at her as he grabbed hold of her forearm and dragged her with him.
‘Ready,’ Emily said, trying to catch her breath as she settled back in the passenger seat of a flame-red Ferrari.
‘Good,’ Alessandro said, narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on the road, his foot flat to the floor.
With the palace disappearing into the distance behind them, Emily was relieved to find Alessandro’s driving fast but a good deal smoother than his chauffeur’s. He drove without speaking, and finally, when she was almost bursting with curiosity, he announced that they would be stopping for lunch at a small village in the hills.
The Prince of Ferara’s arrival with his new wife at an unpretentious café in the main square caused disbelief, followed swiftly by purposeful activity. And that was thanks largely to Alessandro’s manner, Emily realised as she watched him putting people at their ease. He had barely finished introducing her around-and giving a pretty good impersonation of being proud of his choice of wife—when several women emerged from the kitchen, bearing local delicacies which they placed on the freshly scrubbed outdoor tables.
‘You will need your strength,’ one of them informed Alessandro coyly, nodding encouragement as she held out one of the first large oval dishes of pasta for him to taste.
‘My strength?’ he queried, making a point of not looking at Emily, though she noticed the smile he was gracious enough to hide behind a huge red-chequered napkin.
‘Si, Principe,’ all the other women chorused gaily, much to Emily’s embarrassment.
Then one of the men threaded his way through the women, flexing a battered cap in his hand. ‘Today is the Palio del Timone, Principe,’ he explained. ‘Each year we have a tug o’ war with the neighbouring village; you have arrived just in time—’ He stopped, as if he felt he had gone too far.
‘Go on,’ Alessandro encouraged, putting down his fork to listen.
‘If you took part…’ The man hesitated again.
Alessandro got to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I will take part.’
‘Federico,’ the man supplied, flashing up an expectant glance.
‘Federico,’ Alessandro said, shaking him by the hand, ‘you have just recruited a new member to your team. I am honoured to serve with you.’
Rubbing his hands together with glee, Federico turned. ‘Did you hear that? I believe this year we may just have the edge!’
As the excitement rose to fever-pitch, Emily remembered Alessandro had been in a rush when they left the palace. ‘Are you sure there’s time for this?’ she murmured with concern as she joined him.
‘Why not?’ he demanded, looking at her in amusement. ‘How much of a hurry are you in, Principessa?’
As she went after him Emily’s face was bright red, provoking delighted smiles and knowing looks from those women close enough to observe the exchange.
If their marriage had been consummated, Emily reckoned, a little embarrassment would have been a small price to pay. But as it was it seemed particularly unjust—especially as the women were still nudging each other and winking at her.
The news that Alessandro was to take part in the competition had spread like wildfire, and it seemed as if the entire population of the village had managed to crowd themselves into the small paved area around the café. Silence fell as he crossed the square to greet the opposing team. It was obvious that his side was at a considerable disadvantage, as most were older than their rowdy young opponents from the neighbouring village.
‘Do you think you can redress the balance?’ Emily asked anxiously, as she watched him strip to the waist. His naked torso was all the answer she needed, and a murmur of approval rose around them as he handed her the black top.
‘Take up the slack,’ the man from the café ordered, pointing to the thick rope lying on the ground.’ Principessa,’ he added, ‘when you drop the flag, the men must put their weight and their strength behind that rope. The first team to haul the others across that white line wins the Palio.’
Emily tried to concentrate—but was there anything more delicious than seeing Alessandro put his weight and his strength behind that rope? she wondered, watching the flex of muscles on his sun-bronzed body. If there was, she could only imagine it would be Alessandro completely stripped of his clothes.
His glance flashed across at precisely that moment, filling Emily with a very different kind of excitement from the rest of the spectators. And as she dropped the flag he gave a slight smile that seemed to promise her a contest no less involving than the one he was embarking upon.
Emily watched the denim mould around his impressive thighs as he dug his heels into the ground, gravel spitting up either side of his feet as he heaved. Each muscle and sinew was clearly defined as he threw every bit of his strength behind the rope, working to drag the other side closer to the line.
It was all over very suddenly. A groan from the losing side and a triumphant shout from Alessandro’s who, brandishing the rope, punched the air with their fists. Then there was a noisy round of back-slapping and congratulations, as well as good-natured banter before Alessandro came back to reclaim his top.
‘I’ll just take a shower, then I’ll be right with you,’ he promised, wheeling away to accompany Federico. ‘Then we’ll go,’ he called back to her over his shoulder. ‘Be ready.’
The villagers wanted Alessandro to share in their celebrations, and were disappointed when he told them he had to leave. But, having exacted a promise from him to return the following year, they accepted his decision and fell back.
‘If we are to reach Monte Volere before bedtime, I must go now,’ he explained, provoking another round of nudges and tempting Emily to disillusion everyone on the spot. Her husband’s hair might have been still wet from the shower, and his top clinging damply to the water droplets around his neck—giving the impression that he was in such a hurry to get back to her he hadn’t troubled to dry himself properly—but she knew he only wanted to get to his country estate before dark.
Beyond the narrow streets and close-clustered village houses the countryside opened into a vast, sprawling plain. As the tawny volcanic soil paled to blonde they sped on through the pale, freshly tilled earth on an arrow-straight road, until another range of hills, even higher than those they had left behind, loomed in front of them.
‘Not long now,’ Alessandro promised as he began to negotiate a series of tortuous hairpin bends. ‘I’m going to stop when we get to the top,’ he informed her. ‘Then you’ll see one of the most spectacular vistas in all of Ferara.’
Emily formed a sound of appreciation in her throat. But the last thing on her mind after the events in the village was a sightseeing trip. And even if Alessandro’s suggestion of an affair between them had been his idea of a joke, she had believed this trip to his country estate signalled his intention to bring them closer—if only for the sake of appearances. Now she knew the visit was nothing more than proof he intended to keep his word and