Ben left the room and Carina heard him speak to someone outside before Selida came in. She smiled encouragingly and beckoned her towards the wardrobe.
‘I’ve found you some lovely dresses. We brought them here this morning when you were in the garden.’
Carina was astonished by the number of outfits crammed into the small space. There were summer dresses and skirts, capes and riding habits along with boots and a selection of bonnets. An entire wardrobe was laid open before her and Selida held up a dress of sprig muslin with the high waistline in the empire style.
‘Look, isn’t this delightful? I am sure it will fit you.’
The dresses were old fashioned, not one had a wide skirt or crinoline, but they were pretty and a welcome distraction. Carina allowed Selida to choose and when it was settled she would wear the sprig muslin, she tidied her hair and set off downstairs. Her newfound elegance gave her confidence and she hoped Ben would be impressed. As she walked into the salon, he looked at her appreciatively.
‘That dress must be thirty years old, but it suits you well enough. You look lovely.’
An elderly man in a white jacket shuffled in to announce dinner was served and Ben offered his arm and led her to the dining room. The table was large enough for twelve, with two places set at one end, and Ben seemed content to eat in silence. Looking at him now in his fine clothes, no one would imagine him as a convict in chains, Carina thought. Ben behaved as if the other side of his life did not exist. What had kept him all day so that he hadn’t visited her until late?
When at last they were alone, she finished her wine and asked. ‘Tell me about Donna Isabella del Angelo. Was this her home?’
‘In a manner of speaking. It was the family’s summer residence.’
‘Is it true she was your benefactress?’
‘I’m sure there’s nothing about me that you don’t know already. Why don’t you give me your account of my past? It’s bound to be more entertaining than anything I can tell you.’
His tone was relaxed and Carina gathered her thoughts before she began.
‘I know you were involved in the ’48 revolution. When it failed you were driven into exile. Where did you go?’
‘I lived in Dublin for a time.’
Ben’s eyelashes dropped and she went on more cautiously. ‘Were you brought up at Monteleone?’
‘My brother and I spent part of our childhood here. We inherited the estate when Donna Isabella died.’
‘Why did she leave it to you and not her daughter?’
The question popped out without thinking and Carina put her hands under the table and pinched the napkin on her lap. On the day she collapsed on the road, Ben warned her never to speak of Bianca – but she couldn’t help being curious. Donna Isabella would never have bequeathed the property to Ben and his brother when she had an heir of her own. If Monteleone belonged to Ben, then it was Bianca Scalia who had given it to him.
‘Donna Isabella’s life was in Palermo.’ Ben said with some reserve. ‘I expect she trusted us to look after the place.’
‘So you returned to Sicily with a price on your head to take care of Monteleone?’
‘I came back because I’m committed to the cause of Sicily’s freedom. And this time we will be successful.’
He pushed his chair back, bringing the conversation to an end, and stood aside to let her pass through the door ahead of him. Carina went to stand by the fire and felt his breath on her shoulder.
‘You’re shivering. Shall I fetch you a stole?’
‘I’m not cold, thank you.’
‘Greta Mazzini is coming to call on us in the morning. I’m sure you’ll get on famously. Now, stay by here and keep warm until I come back.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll be home by midnight, I promise.’
‘What business can you have at this time of night?’
Carina heard vexation in her voice. She had waited for Ben all day and he was going out again. She was his lover now, not his captive. It shouldn’t be like this! Her lips trembled and she clenched her jaw as she walked out of the room without waiting for his answer. Reaching the hall, she lifted the front of her skirt and swept up the staircase. She hoped to hear Ben’s tread on the steps and feel his hand on her shoulder, but when she looked down he was going out of the front door.
How could he be so indifferent with the memory of their recent intimacy? Carina thought of his hands on her body and the rapture she had experienced in his arms. This morning she had been happy. She had broken society’s greatest taboo believing that Ben would stand by her. Did such matters mean nothing to him? An awful suspicion came into her mind. Last night she had convinced herself Ben loved her – but perhaps she was the same as any other woman he had taken to his bed – and no doubt convinced them that he was sincere too!
Disappointment dropped in her stomach as she closed the bedroom door and leant against it. She had let Ben seduce her because she was worn down by deprivation and dependency. How could she have been so easily persuaded? If he cared for her, he would have come to her this morning and not left her alone like this! She would lock him out, Carina decided, but the key was nowhere to be found. She searched the room, on every ledge and in every drawer, then finally dragged one of the heavy armchairs and jammed it under the door handle. It might not keep Ben out, but he couldn’t fail to get the message.
Worries darted through her head as she put on her nightgown and climbed into bed. Had she made a terrible mistake? What if she fell pregnant? Dear God, what then? The idea was so terrifying Carina scrambled out of bed. She found a flint and relit the candle. On the desk were writing materials and she gathered them up before going to sit by the fire. Chewing the end of the pencil, she imagined herself in the garden and began to write.
Shine on, calm crescent moon,
Shine on, beyond our sight,
Dispel dark and dusky gloom,
Absolve with limpid light.
Look down, star mantled sky,
Look up, soft singing sea.
Firmament of mother earth
Forbid all melancholy.
Breathe deep, sweet jasmine’d air,
Arabian flowers’ delight.
Children of southern moon
Console my heart tonight.
Carina stopped and started, changing words and crossing out lines. The poem helped to control her panic and she made a final alteration, then left the paper on the desk. She went back to bed and snuffed out the candle. As the clock struck twelve, she heard the front door shut. A few moments later there were footsteps in the passage and the door handle rattled, followed by the sound of splintering wood as the chair crashed on its side.
Carina was so tense she could hardly breathe. She lay as close to the edge of the bed as she could. She felt Ben’s knees touch the back of her legs and his hands on her shoulders. He began to massage her muscles and she kept her eyes shut, trying to keep still, but when he reached for the fastening of her gown, she clutched hold of it and he moved away.
The candle flickered into light and Ben turned her over on to her back. Placing his elbows on the pillow, he looked down into her face.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I won’t let you do this!’ Carina began. ‘I’m not like your other women—’
‘I agree – you’re far more desirable and a good deal more difficult.’
‘I’m at no man’s command—’
‘As I’ve found out …’ Ben murmured and bent his neck to kiss her. Carina shut her mouth and he continued unperturbed. ‘You remind me of a mountain cat my brother brought home. Alex was so sure he could tame that damn animal until it turned on him and mauled him half to death.’
It was the first time Ben had spoken of his twin and Carina looked him. She saw a shadow pass across his face and then he smiled.
‘You’re as wild as that cat and twice as dangerous.’
‘Did he let the poor creature go?’
‘I seem to recall he let it loose. It was shot dead the next week.’
‘Well, at least he set it free.’
‘But I’m not my brother, my love. I don’t have his patience and nor do I have any inclination to tame you.’
‘Ben, please! You know what we did was wrong—’
‘There’s no use shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted.’
He was mocking her and Carina twisted her head on the pillow, refusing to look at him.
‘Listen to me, sweetheart.’ Ben ran a finger down the inside of her arm.’ I would love to spend every hour of the day with you, but I have other responsibilities. It doesn’t mean I’m not serious in this matter.’
‘But think what might happen if … if …’
‘If you find yourself with child? Then I’ll persuade you to marry me. I vowed long ago no offspring of mine would be born illegitimate.’
‘Do you mean we’d live together as man and wife?’
‘Not necessarily; I’m sure we can reach an accommodation that’s acceptable to us both. You’re a beautiful woman. It would be an honour to be your husband, even in name only. Besides, an annulment is easily obtained.’
Ben regarded marriage as a contract to be dissolved without a qualm of conscience – but she loved as fiercely as she hated. She would rather bear a child out of wedlock than submit to such an arrangement and her face tightened with determination.
‘It would be a travesty of all that’s right and decent.’
‘Not if you prove you were forced into the marriage or your mind was unbalanced at the time.’
‘By all that’s sacred, I couldn’t—’
‘Hush now …’
Ben took her hand and guided it to his mouth, kissing the tips of her fingers. He hadn’t listened to a word she said, Carina thought. She might have persisted, but he muffled her protests with his lips. She was aware of him removing her nightgown, leaning over and pressing kisses to her neck. Ben aroused feelings she had never known before. And now, for mercy’s sake, what was he doing? The exploration of his fingers was insistent and Carina grabbed a handful of his hair and forced his head up.
‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart. It would be a sin against nature to waste that sweet ardour of yours.’
Ben looked down at her and the warmth in his eyes pierced Carina to the core. How could she resist when she had no desire to stop him? In his arms, fear and uncertainty slipped away. She would not think about tomorrow. Ben was no longer a stranger. She could close her eyes and see his face in the darkness. The passion between them was a raging fire, consuming her in its flames – and if this wasn’t love, what else could it be?