GABRIELLA touched down at Miami International at ten in the morning. As the private jet that Baron Alfredo had chartered to take her there from the Dominican Republic landed, she wondered how she was going to shake off the two bodyguards and the chauffeur who had been ordered to accompany her. She glanced at her mobile phone. As soon as she was in the terminal she would phone the airline and book a flight to Rio tonight. But between now and then she would have to find a way of shedding her entourage.
Soon they were moving through the busy airport. Then she was in the back of a limo, driving down I-95 towards Miami Beach, satisfied that she’d managed to make a first-class reservation to Rio for that evening. The rest would just have to fall into place along the way, she decided optimistically. She was determined not to worry about it and to be positive. She always got her own way, didn’t she? So why should that change?
As the car crossed the MacArthur Causeway and headed towards Ocean Drive, she sighed and, despite her determination to get away from him, wondered what Ricardo was doing right now. She quickly stopped herself from worrying whether he was safe, telling herself that it was nothing to her if he was or not. She had no business caring what happened to him, did she?
After a brief look at the stores on Collins Avenue, Gabriella got back in the limo and continued towards Bal Harbour. It was fundamental that she gave the impression to her bodyguards and chauffeur that she wanted to shop until she dropped, so she wandered through the sophisticated shopping mall, in and out of several boutiques, and stopped in two exquisitely expensive designer stores where she bought a couple of handbags, a T-shirt and two pairs of shoes to justify her expedition, before sitting down at one of the outdoor restaurants and ordering some lunch. When the waitress proposed a glass of champagne she cringed inwardly. She would not be drinking champagne any time soon, she vowed, ordering a mineral water.
The offer of champagne reminded her of just how gentlemanly Ricardo had been, and how caring. She blushed at the thought of him removing her clothes and dressing her in his pyjamas. But she banished that thought quickly and focused instead on thinking up creative excuses for staying in town for the night. No way could she let herself be taken back to the island today, for that would put an end to all her schemes.
After some salad and some thinking, Gabriella decided to tell her bodyguards that she was too tired to return to the island that day and would check into the Ritz Carlton in Coconut Grove. She would tell them that they could have the evening off, since she planned to stay in her suite all evening. She just hoped they would all agree to go off duty—which she doubted, since they seemed to be a permanent fixture—in time for her to slip out, catch a cab and make it to the airport in time for her Rio flight.
By the time he reached Maldoravia it had already been established that the cause of the explosion was, as had been suspected, bad electrical wiring in an ancient building in the old town. Ricardo was glad that the cause of the incident was not terrorism, but that did not alter the dimension of the tragedy: the fact that seven were dead and three injured was distressing enough.
He had visited the bereaved families, and the injured at the hospital, and only now did he have time to think about his wife. Once he was back at the Palace in his office he began to pick up his voice messages. After that he would call her. But the first message on his machine was from Baron Alfredo, saying that Gabriella had gone to Miami for the day.
He frowned slightly and replayed it, then shrugged. Perhaps she was bored, being left on the island by herself. After all there was not much to do there. Probably better that she distract herself with shopping. But when he tried to reach her on her mobile phone he discovered it was turned off, and he experienced a stab of disappointment.
When next morning Alfredo rang to say that Gabriella had remained in Miami for the night and would be returning to the island later in the day, he really frowned. A niggling sensation of doubt assailed him, which he found difficult to shake off. He dragged his fingers through his thick dark hair and leaned back in the leather desk chair feeling uneasy, wishing he could leave at once. But that was impossible. He had been working most of the night, and today he had to attend the funerals. He glanced at his watch. He had no time now to worry about Gabriella, who would be back on the island in a few hours anyway. But something disturbed him.
It was only at the end of the day—once he’d returned exhausted from the burial processions and funerals, and with the press still awaiting his comments—that he received the news that Gabriella was nowhere to be found; her hotel suite was empty and her bags were gone. Somehow he was not surprised.
‘Damn her,’ he exclaimed, moving away from the crowd of journalists who were waiting to interview him. He glanced at his watch. The first thing he had to do was find out where she’d escaped to. Was she still in the US? Where was he to begin looking for his errant wife? Those incompetent bodyguards. He would have something to say to them.
But, in all fairness, if she had gone to her suite—as they’d assured him she had—and told them she would be staying there for the night, there was no way they could have avoided her escape. He had no doubt that she had found some creative manner of leaving the hotel. After all, he had sent them to protect her, not to spy.
Ricardo experienced a rush of anger. She had probably escaped in some unorthodox fashion. What the hell did she think she was doing? Didn’t she realise that the games were over, that she was his wife now? Gabriella was a thorough pest, and right now he could throttle her for making such a nuisance of herself. Not to mention the underlying worry of not knowing where she was and the fear that something might have happened to her for which he would hold himself directly responsible.
It felt good to see the Corcovado, the Sugar Loaf Mountain, and Rio spreading out below her in the early-morning light. As the plane circled the city Gabriella let out a sigh of relief. The plan had worked. She was on her way home—where she called the shots. Soon this whole episode with Ricardo would be nothing but a nightmare.
Well, not quite a nightmare, she recognised uncomfortably. There had been wonderful moments—moments she would have difficulty in forgetting. But that was not something she planned to dwell on.
Soon she was outside the air terminal, feeling the familiar blast of damp heat. She had arranged for the hotel where she planned to stay in Rio to send a car to pick her up. Already at the terminal she’d felt good, knowing she was back on her own turf, hearing the reassuring buzz of people talking nineteen to the dozen and the sounds of samba music and laughter. She knew that she had finally come home. But now, instead of the rush of triumph she’d expected, she felt strangely empty, as if a large vacuum had suddenly popped into her life. But she banished that thought.
As soon as she arrived at the Copacabana Palace, Gabriella called Andrade, her father’s chief lawyer and executor, and told him to send the jet to pick her up and take her back to the family estate. He promptly fulfilled her request, and a few hours later she was flying over rainforest, huge stretches of farmland and varying countryside as the plane headed north. She had set up a meeting with the lawyer for the following day.
Gabriella still hadn’t faced the fact that she would have to talk to Ricardo and explain her actions. Or maybe she wouldn’t, she reflected, drinking a cola and curling up in the big leather seat. Maybe she wouldn’t explain anything at all. After all, her actions spoke for themselves, didn’t they? After this he would probably be happy to be rid of her.
Instead of making her happy, that last thought left her somewhat gloomy. Of course it would be an international scandal, and she hated the thought of subjecting him to that after he’d been really quite decent to her. The idea was rather lowering, and for a moment she felt a wave of sadness. But then she pulled herself together and justified her behaviour. It was just one of those things that couldn’t be helped. Collateral damage. That was how she had to think of it. After all, it was he who had been so determined to go ahead with the wedding. So it was basically all his fault.
Still, even though she shrugged and picked up a magazine to read, she found it impossible to concentrate. Somehow Ricardo’s image, his deep dark eyes and enigmatic smile, kept interfering.
‘Damn him,’ she mumbled, throwing the magazine into the seat across the aisle and leaning back, closing her eyes. She had finally rid herself of the man. That was what she’d wanted, surely? Then why instead of elation did she feel deflated? It made absolutely no sense.
No sense at all.
‘You what?’ Mae Isaura, Gabriella’s old nanny exclaimed, her hands firmly planted on her wide hips, her girth framed in the doorway of Gabriella’s room.
‘I told you,’ Gabriella muttered, pretending to unpack. ‘I left him. I don’t want to be married to him, Isaura. I don’t want to be married to anyone. It was crazy of Father to force us. It just wasn’t fair. To him or me.’ She turned, lifted a blouse from her tote bag and glanced at it. ‘This needs ironing.’
‘Do not try and change the subject, Gabriella.’
‘I’m not. I merely said that this blouse—’
‘Oh, I wish you were small again. I tell you, if you were, you would have a very sore bottom by now, you naughty child. You have no business to behave in this manner. You will stop unpacking and return to your husband at once.’
‘No, I won’t,’ Gabriella threw back. ‘I refuse.’ The two women confronted one another, eyes blazing, as they had so often over the years: Isaura, small and wide and dark, the only person to whom the girl had ever been known to give way; Gabriella, tall, beautiful and autocratic, her green eyes alive with determined zeal. ‘I refuse to live with him, Isaura, to go back to that silly Principality with all its formal ways and protocol and stuffiness. Why, he barely talked to me when we were there. It’s stifling, unbearable. I won’t.’ She whirled around to face the window with her arms crossed protectively over her breasts
‘Gabriella, you are too old for tantrums. You are a married woman now, not a child. I’m actually surprised this man has allowed you to get away with this. He seemed a sensible sort to me. And very much a man. He won’t take kindly to what you’ve done. You have humiliated him in front of the world. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
‘He asked for it,’ she mumbled, knowing she would have a hard time defending this position.
‘Well, this time you’ve asked for it, minha querida,’ Isaura said pithily. ‘And I shall have no sympathy for you when you reap the results of this mischief. You’ll deserve anything that comes to you.’ With that dire warning she turned on her heel and closed the door smartly behind her, leaving Gabriella to brood on her own.
‘What do you mean, she’s gone?’ The Contessa sat ramrod-straight in the high, tapestried Queen Anne chair, shocked, sending a horrified glance to Sara, who stood close by.
‘Exactly what I said, Aunt,’ Ricardo said, flinging himself down on the brocade sofa opposite. ‘She simply upped and left—disappeared. She pretended she was going shopping in Miami, took a suite for the night in a hotel, told the staff she was staying in for the evening, then packed her bags and—away.’ He snapped his fingers expressively.
‘But where has she gone?’ Sara asked, her expression worried.
‘I’m not certain,’ he replied, eyes narrowing, ‘but I have a fairly good hunch that she’s gone home to Brazil. After all, where else would she go? London? Paris? She had some notion that she wanted to be a model. But I don’t think she would risk exposing herself right now, when all the press will be at her heels.’
‘Poor child,’ the Contessa murmured, shaking her coiffed silver head. ‘I think both of you have been placed in a most awkward situation.’
‘Well, I didn’t expect you to react like that,’ Ricardo said haughtily. ‘I just want to try and avoid an international scandal.’ He passed a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘She’s been nothing but trouble from the moment I accepted Gonzalo’s invitation.’
‘Is that all that worries you, Ricardo?’
‘Well, no. Of course I’m worried about her whereabouts. But I’ll not let her make a fool out of me.’ He nodded to Sara, who indicated discreetly that she would leave the two of them alone.
The Contessa raised her brows. Always that wretched Maldoravian pride, she reflected with an inner sigh. It might not, she reflected ruefully, do Ricardo any harm to be made to realise he was not the only fish in the sea. ‘Well, I suppose if she’s gone home that makes it much easier,’ she said blandly. ‘After all, if she’s nothing but a nuisance to you, then you are well rid of her.’
‘What?’ He looked across at her, amazed.
‘You just said that she has been nothing but trouble from day one,’ the Contessa reasoned.
‘That’s all very well,’ he muttered, rising and pacing the room. ‘But she’s my wife, and I’m damned if I’ll have her leaving me in the middle of our honeymoon, making a fool of me to the world. How do you think that will look to the press?’ he demanded.
‘Ah, I see.’ The Contessa raised her brows slightly. ‘Appearances.’
‘Yes, Aunt, appearances,’ Ricardo muttered through gritted teeth. ‘These are things that will have to be considered and carefully administered.’
‘Mmm. I suppose you’re right,’ she replied, eyeing him with a touch of humour. ‘But, you know, I really wonder if perhaps Gabriella isn’t right, and if you should bring this marriage to an end despite the scandal.’
‘What did you say?’ Ricardo rose and stared at her, astonished. ‘Of all people, I never thought I’d hear you express such a view, Aunt. Frankly, I am shocked to hear you say it.’
‘I’m simply being reasonable. After all, there is no love lost between you, and it will be nothing but a seven-day wonder that’s fast replaced by some other, juicier scandal.’
‘Rubbish. I won’t hear of it.’
‘So you plan to go after her?’
‘Of course I plan to go after her,’ he answered in a withering tone. ‘Despite this crazy notion of yours, she’s still my wife, and she will be brought back here where she belongs and made to behave as befits her position.’
‘I see. Well, it’s entirely up to you.’ The Contessa shrugged lightly, picked up her embroidery and remained annoyingly calm.
‘I shall travel to Brazil and take any decisions there. At least we will be seen to be together. Perhaps we should not have allowed ourselves to be held hostage to Gonzalo’s deathbed wishes,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Still, there was little to be done. His will meant she would have lost all her money had I not insisted we go through with the ceremony.’ He shook his head as his personal secretary appeared in the doorway.
‘Your Royal Highness is expected,’ the secretary said with a small bow.
‘Of course.’ With an automatic smile Ricardo said goodbye to his aunt and left the salon.
‘I’m afraid what you ask is impossible,’ Andrade, the white-haired lawyer, replied to Gabriella’s request to begin divorce proceedings.
‘But why?’ she asked, spinning around and facing him full on.
‘Because, querida, from the moment you married the Prince you became a Maldoravian citizen. You are now subject to the laws of the Principality,’ he said, flipping through some papers. ‘I took the liberty of doing some research on the subject before you married. Just out of general interest, you understand. For any court to grant you a divorce in Maldoravia, you would have to first prove that you have lived together for at least six months,’ he said, checking the items with his index finger, ‘secondly prove that the marriage has failed after a sufficient period of life in common to have given it a fair trial, and then have a period of separation in which you agree to counselling and are open to reconciliation. If after all that, and a two-year period of separation, both of you still feel that there are irreconcilable differences that cannot be surmounted, then the case can be heard in court. Even then it is not certain that a divorce will be granted. The Constitution of Maldoravia is very ancient and old-fashioned, and its laws on the matter of divorce are very strict.’
‘You’re joking?’ Gabriella sat down opposite him, deflated. ‘But that’s simply awful—what am I to do?’ She threw up her hands in despair. ‘I can’t be stuck with him for the rest of my life. It’s not fair.’ Perhaps an annulment was the answer…
At that moment a servant appeared. ‘Dona Gabriella, a visitor has arrived.’
‘A visitor?’ She looked up sharply.
‘Yes, senhora. Your husband, the Prince, awaits you.’
‘Goodness.’ Gabriella paled. ‘How has he got here so quickly?’ She braced herself, tried to feel very brave and very grown-up. This was it. ‘Please wait a moment, Andrade, while I receive my—the Prince.’ Tossing her dark hair back, she marched through the door and prayed for the right words to be sent to her.
As he had on his first visit to the Guimaraes mansion, Ricardo heard the sound of fine heels on marble. He stiffened, turned towards the window and stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the tropical landscape. When he heard her enter he waited a moment before turning around. When he did he caught his breath. She was perfectly lovely, her colour heightened, her eyes bright, her breasts heaving with anxiety. How he wished he could take two strides across the room and take her in his arms, teach her how to love and be loved. Instead he kept a cool, indifferent expression on his face and cleared his throat.
‘Hello, Gabriella,’ he said, as coldly as he could. The rush of desire was impossible to ignore.
‘Hello, Ricardo.’ She hesitated before advancing into the room, the silence broken only by the sound of the waves rolling in the distance. Their eyes met, held. Then she looked away and sat down, indicating the white sofa opposite her.
‘I think we need to have a talk,’ he said at last, remaining standing.
‘What is there to talk about?’ she asked, pretending to straighten her skirt. The shock of seeing him again was far greater than she’d expected. All at once scenes from the terrace on their Caribbean honeymoon island surfaced, and she swallowed. Why did he affect her in this way?
‘Gabriella, we need to talk about the future. I cannot live with a wife who feels she is obliged to flee from me the minute my back is turned.’
‘Then let’s get divorced and be done with it.’
‘Yes, let’s.’ He nodded. ‘I think you’re right. That is probably the best solution.’
She looked up, her eyes awash with amazement. ‘But—you’d agree to a divorce?’
‘If it is the only solution—why, yes. I certainly don’t want to live with you under the present circumstances. It would make life impossible. And I really don’t have time to come after you every time you run away or play the fool with this capricious behaviour.’
Gabriella’s jaw dropped. She’d imagined everything: outrage, anger, anything but indifference. She clenched her fists. ‘Well, good,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘How convenient that my lawyer is already here.’
‘Is he? That’s great. Then why don’t we get on with it?’ Ricardo smiled politely. ‘Just call him in and we can settle matters immediately. I would quite like to get out of here before dusk.’ He glanced at the sky, then at his watch. ‘It will get dark pretty soon now, I should think.’
Without a word, her lips tightly closed, Gabriella rose and rang the bell. A servant appeared immediately. ‘Tell Dr Andrade to join us, please,’ Gabriella said, her head in turmoil. This was not at all how things were meant to pan out. Not that she had any clear idea of what the correct script should be—simply that this wasn’t it.
Andrade entered the room, all smiles.
‘Your Highness—how nice to see you again so soon after your wedding.’
Ricardo smiled and shook hands with the man.
Gabriella’s mind was working frantically.
‘I hope you had a good trip?’ the lawyer continued, accepting the chair being offered to him.
‘Not as good as it could be, under the present circumstances,’ Ricardo countered with a grave look. ‘I believe you are already aware,’ he said, with a brief mocking glance at Gabriella, ‘that my wife and I find we do not suit and would like an immediate divorce?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Gabriella agreed nervously, trying to pretend to herself that the words ‘my wife’ did not affect her in any shape or form. ‘As I told you we—we want to get divorced. We—’ She looked up and caught Ricardo’s eyes.
‘But that is impossible,’ the lawyer repeated, shaking his head. ‘Your Royal Highness, I just told Gabriella, before you arrived… Let me explain. Since you were not married in Brazil, the courts here have no jurisdiction over your marriage. Any divorce would have to follow Maldoravian law. As I mentioned to Gabriella, a minimum of six months in cohabitation followed by two years’ physical separation would be necessary for you to even contemplate such an action. Plus, you would have to go through a reconciliation process and all manner of things. I’m afraid I really can’t help you immediately.’
‘I see.’ Ricardo’s expression gave little away.
‘But that’s so unfair,’ Gabriella exclaimed once again. ‘Ricardo, you’re the Prince—surely you could change the law if you wanted to?’
‘Changing the law at a whim is not within my rights,’ he remarked dryly.
‘Well, I’m sure you could do something. After all, it’s clear that we can’t do it that way. Isn’t it?’ Her voice was pleading now.
‘It appears we have little choice, cara.’
‘But that’s ridiculous.’
‘Maybe,’ he said, eyeing her steadily, ‘but by the look of it we will have to make the best of it.’
‘Oh!’ Gabriella got up, clenching her fists as she was prone to do in moments of utter frustration. ‘Are you saying that I must return with you to that—that stuffy, mouldy, unbearable place, and wither away there for six months?’
‘That, madam, would appear to be the case,’ Ricardo said with a small nod of affirmation.
‘But I’m a Brazilian. I’m not Maldo—whatever it is,’ she cried, beseeching Andrade for help.
‘From the moment you married you became a Maldoravian citizen, and you are now subject to that country’s law,’ Andrade replied apologetically. ‘And by that law your husband can command you to return and live by his side, whether you like it or not. As I told you before, it is a principality that still holds on to old, time-worn traditions. Particularly where marriage is concerned.’
‘Oh, I don’t believe it,’ Gabriella exclaimed, turning and peering at Ricardo through narrowed eyes. ‘You knew all this,’ she threw accusingly. ‘You knew we couldn’t get divorced quickly.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t aware of all the difficulties, having never contemplated the possibility,’ Ricardo said calmly. ‘But I think Dr Andrade is right. If we wish to proceed in this matter we shall have to follow Maldoravian law and take legal counsel there. In which case the sooner we get back there and get on with it the better—don’t you agree?’ He glanced once more at his watch. ‘Could you be ready, say, in half an hour?’
‘It’s preposterous,’ an exhausted Gabriella repeated to the patient Contessa, who was doing her embroidery while lending a sympathetic ear. ‘Why can’t we just get divorced and be done with it? After all, it’s not as if either of us wants to stay married.’ Gabriella whirled around to seek the older woman’s agreement.
‘Mmm. Of course, one must take into account that the customs here are not as modern as in other parts of the world,’ the Contessa countered tactfully, snipping a thread. ‘I think the general consensus is that people should try and give their marriage a chance before taking a decision to end it.’ She glanced up, caught Gabriella’s brooding expression and smothered a smile.
But she was worried about the two young people. It was obvious to anyone that a deep attraction lay between them. You only had to be in the same room to pick up the tense vibes that surrounded the couple. But she was too much of a diplomat to point this out to her errant new niece and her proud, aristocratic nephew. Unfortunately they were going to have to find things out for themselves, she thought with a sigh.
And, to make things worse, Ambrosia, Ricardo’s ex-mistress, had arrived on the island that morning. Or so she’d heard from Constanza, who was here for the weekend. The bush telegraph in the Principality functioned at great speed. What could that young woman be up to? she wondered. Surely she would have lost interest in Ricardo now that he was married to another and there was no possibility of her becoming Princess.
Or would she?
The Contessa mused over the matter for several moments while Gabriella sulked by the window. Ambrosia was ambitious, ruthless, and a man-eater. Perhaps she planned to remain in Ricardo’s life anyway? The Contessa had never understood what had drawn those two together in the first place. Sex, she supposed, was the answer.
Again the Contessa glanced at Gabriella: so young, so beautiful, so used to getting her own way, and so bewildered by a whole new set of circumstances. The Contessa was quite surprised that Ricardo, known for his prowess with women, had not managed better in this quarter.
‘Have you seen Ricardo this morning?’ she asked casually, rethreading her needle with a different-coloured silk.
‘No, I haven’t. He gets up before I get up and goes to sleep after I’m asleep,’ Gabriella announced, unaware of how huffy she sounded and of how much that statement proclaimed.
‘I see. Well, he must be very busy.’
‘I suppose so. Aunt Elizabetta, what am I going to do?’ Gabriella sat down on the velvet ottoman near the Contessa and turned her big flashing green eyes towards the older woman. ‘I mean, we can’t go on living like this,’ she cried despairingly, waving her hands. ‘It’s perfectly ridiculous, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I do. I think both of you should grow up and face your responsibilities,’ the Contessa remarked calmly.
‘What do you mean?’ Gabriella sat up straighter, surprised at the response. She’d been looking for sympathy, not a lecture.
‘Well, to put it in a nutshell, like it or not you’re married—and will remain so for at least two and a half years. If it was me I would make the best of it. Right now you and Ricardo seem to spend the better part of your time avoiding one another. That is not much of a life for either you or him.’
‘But what can I possibly do?’
‘How about seducing him?’
‘Sedu—’ Gabriella stared at her, aghast. ‘Aunt Elizabetta!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m shocked.’
‘Why? I wasn’t always the age I am now, you know. I can very well remember what it was like to be attracted to a very seductive and handsome man.’
Gabriella jumped off the stool. She was wearing a pretty patterned peasant skirt and a blouse tied at her waist. With her long dark hair and flashing eyes she looked a little like a beautiful gipsy.
‘How can I seduce a man that—well, a man who doesn’t want me?’ she blurted out woefully.
‘Doesn’t want you?’ The Contessa frowned. ‘Are you sure? I’m surprised to hear that. I had the impression—’ She cut herself off, realising she was about to say too much. ‘Well, of course you must know. After all, you are his wife.’
‘Much good that does me,’ Gabriella muttered. ‘Why, after what happened on our honeymoon, he’s never even—What I mean to say is, we sleep in the same bed and… Oh, this is too embarrassing—too ridiculous,’ she exclaimed, letting out a deep breath.
‘You mean to tell me that you are still a virgin?’ the Contessa asked quietly.
A flush extended up Gabriella’s long slim throat. ‘I…yes.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Aunt, that is not helpful,’ Gabriella cried in frustration. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘I already told you what to do,’ the Contessa said philosophically, a smile hovering about her lips. ‘I’m sure that he’ll at least be surprised.’