Too Cold To Love (15 page)

Giorgio had bristled at the mere mention of the
Beauchamp name, his easy smile vanishing to be replaced with sheer fury when
Lucien de Beauchamp's name was mentioned.

Elise shivered, recalling the look of sheer
contempt Giorgio threw towards her when he queried Marco about the bruises on
his hand. Marco switched to Italian, effectively shutting her out of the
conversation.

When she asked him about it later in the privacy
of their bedroom, he had laughed and told her not to worry, but the smile
hadn't quite reached his eyes. When she returned from the bathroom he was
engrossed on his laptop. Elise went to sleep listening to the tap tap of the
keyboard and woke up on her own the next morning.

She found him deep in conversation with Giorgio,
and Elise made herself scarce after a quick peck on the cheek and another one
of
those
looks from Giorgio. Elise got the distinct impression that
Marco's cousin did not approve of her, which was laughable really, considering
the man's reputation.

To top it all off she'd had an unsettling phone
call from Jemima, who was back in
London
and had sounded – well terrified, was the only way to describe it, really.
Goodness only knew what stuff she was involved in now. Elise had hurriedly
reassured her that yes, of course she could use the flat, and she would see her
when she got back, mindful of a pair of worried, blue eyes and extremely
frosty, slate grey ones watching her every move.

Marco had pulled her on his lap with a smile and
a whispered, "Is everything ok,
caramia?"
His hand had slowly
massaged the knots of anxiety in her back, and Elise had taken the coward's way
out and simply nodded, all too aware of Giorgio's unsettling smile.

It shouldn't have come as huge surprise that the
old nightmare returned. Elise woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, and
gasping for breath. She extricated herself out of a softly snoring Marco's
arms, threw on a bathrobe, and padded out into the quiet night garden.

The beauty of the moon-bathed vegetation washed
over her, and she took a deep fortifying breath of the herb-scented night air.
Just as her agitation subsided the crunch of gravel sent a shiver of unease
down her spine. The fine hair on her body stood to attention, and she rubbed
the goose bumps off her arms. Giorgio stepped out from behind one of the olive
trees, and she clasped her arms around her middle as those shivers took on
Tsunami proportions. What the hell was he doing here?

"And why does Marco's new wife prowl the
garden at night time, I wonder? Shouldn't you be in bed with your
husband?" Giorgio's grey eyes ran slowly over her body, and Elise took a
step back. He matched her step by step, until he was so close, Elise had to
crane her neck to look up at him. The contempt in his eyes hurt. What the hell
had she ever done to him?

"That is really none of your business, now
is it?" Elise locked her shoulders and stared him down. Fine, he didn't
like her; she wasn't too enamored with him either.

"On the contrary it is. I was too late to
stop him from making a fool of himself over the last bitch he married."

Elise gasped and took a step back at the vitriol
in those words.

 
"And
seeing the way he moons over you, I may well be too late again, but mark my
words. I haven't forgotten our last encounter, my dear!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about.
I've never met you before yesterday." Elise whispered the words of denial.
Surely not?No, no, no, no, no, Jemima, seriously? What had she done now?
Jemima
had spent some time in
Italy
last year; Elise remembered now. A deluge of iciness consumed her and she
locked her knees to stop herself from wobbling.

Giorgio's short, cruel laugh made Elise take
another step back, desperately fighting to keep her body from shaking.

"So who was it then, your evil twin? I
admit you had me fooled for a bit. You've changed your hair, and you certainly
dress differently, but I never forget a pretty face, let alone one who tried to
make a fool of me."

"I don't really care whether you believe me
or not, but I can assure you it wasn't me." Elise's voice lacked
conviction, and Giorgio smirked.

"What's going on here?"

She spun around at Marco's very quiet voice
behind her. His hair was still mussed from sleep, the jeans he had thrown on,
unbuttoned at the waist, the knuckles white where his fingers grabbed his front
pockets. Elise's heart clenched painfully at the hurt look in his beautiful
eyes before an all too familiar mask came down that she hadn't seen since
Reims
.
Damn, damn, damn!
She should have told him
the truth. He was never going to believe her now.

"I was just having a quiet conversation
with Jemima here, Marco. Now that I remembered where we met before."

"Her name is Elise, and I fail to see what
your encounters with her sister have to do with my wife."

Marco's arms snug round her waist, but his tense
body held her slightly away from him. Elise tried in vain to lean into his
warmth. His hands tightened on her hips, and he kept his distance.

Giorgio shook his head, his smile grim.

"You certainly know how to pick them,
Marco. You and your misguided sense of duty. It's the twenty first century,
man. Newsflash – you do not have to marry every woman you sleep with. Though I
grant you, this one has talents. She certainly has taught me a few
things."

Elise could not believe what she was hearing.

"How dare you? I told you that wasn't me.
Marco, you know that. I never met your cousin before we got here..." but
Marco let go of her. He said something in Italian, and Giorgio looked at her
incredulously, whistling low under his breath.

Oh for goodness sakes. Elise could strangle the
both of them.

"For pity's sake talk in English. It's rude
to waffle on in Italian when you know I don't speak it."

Yet, by golly I'm going to learn.

Giorgio laughed, and flashed his dimples at her.
He said something else to Marco, and the look of disgust on Marco's face sliced
right through her. An icy fist clenched her heart, and she swallowed past the
lump in her throat. Marco grasped Elise by the arm and propelled her back
towards their room. He shoved her away from him and shut the French doors very
carefully.

Elise stumbled from the force of his shove, but
managed to catch herself before she fell. Adrenaline coursed through her veins;
her heart pounded, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her robe. Why didn't he
say anything? She forced herself to turn around and face the man, resting his
head against the doors. She took a hesitant step towards him, but before she
could stretch her hand out to touch those slumped shoulders, he spun round to
face her. The murderous expression in his eyes turned the blood in her veins to
ice. He clenched and unclenched his fists. The tight set of his jaw and the
thin line of his usually full lips showed a man on the edge of his control.

Shit! You knew he was never going to take
this well.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and
oppressive like a suffocating blanket of distrust. When Marco finally spoke,
his voice held an edge of steel.

"Care to explain to me what my cousin was
just going on about,
wife
?"

No, no, no, no, no.
Elise didn't seem capable of forming any other thought in her
head.
 
That single word just kept
bouncing around in there. Hot tears clouded her vision, and she blinked
furiously to not let them show. He would just see them as a ploy, not the
evidence of her heart splintering into a million jagged pieces.
No.

He was so still, so serious, and so utterly
self-contained, she couldn't stand it.

"I'm waiting, wife, and I want the
truth."

Elise shut her eyes in a vain effort to stop the
rising tears and sheer panic threatening to engulf her. She jumped when his
hands grabbed her upper arms.

"Damn it, Elise, I have never laid hands on
a woman in my life, but so help me, if you don't tell me the truth." He
let go off her so abruptly she swayed. He put some distance between them, the
furious string of Italian swear words, punctuated by the fist he drove into the
wall.

They stood facing each other, the tension
between them so palpable Elise was surprised the air didn't crackle.

"I guess it would help to know what Giorgio
has told you, so I know what I am being accused of then, wouldn't it?"

Marco's grim laugh chilled her to the bone.

"So you can get your lies straight you
mean. Damn it, I thought we were past this. I thought..." His voice
cracked. He ran one hand through his hair and swore again. Elise's hands itched
to brush the lock of hair off his brow and to kiss those worry lines away. She
had to make him understand.

"We are, Marco; I have never lied to
you."

"Really? You're lying to me now – the
tickets, the auction – need I go on? Damn it, how I am supposed to believe
anything that comes out of your mouth? This is pointless! I'm going to sleep in
one of the spare rooms. We're flying home tomorrow. The sooner we get home, the
sooner we can sort out custody and—" He stopped to look at her; one
eyebrow raised, his hand on the door handle, "the sooner we can put an end
to this farce of a marriage."

The sound coming out of Elise's mouth shocked
even her.
What was that?

"
For pity's
sake woman, stop the act. Though it deserves an Oscar, I give you that."

His frosty gaze mocked her, but he stepped away
from the door. He took one long stride towards her before he shook his head in
disgust, and shoved his fists into his pockets so forcefully one of them
ripped.

Elise couldn't help it; the tears started
falling in earnest as the truth dawned on her.

"But I don't want a divorce, Marco. Please,
I have never lied to you, you've got to believe me, it wasn't me, it was—"
No, no, no, he's not going to believe me, is he? I've so blown it all.

"Like I said, ten out of ten for acting,
Elise. Too bad I don't care either way. Have your stuff packed by the morning.
We'll be on the first flight out of here. I warned you what would happen if you
crossed me."

"But, Marco, I didn't it wasn't me. It
was—"

Marco took another step towards her, his face a
grim mask of the teasing man she had grown to love over the last two
weeks.
 
Fuck! She'd fallen in love
with him. What a stupid, stupid thing to do.

"Are you taking me for a fool, Elise? Of
course it was you, you little lying—"

Marco froze, and his expression grew so furious,
Elise took a step back, suddenly afraid of what he might do.

"Who the fuck are you, Elise, and who has
been looking after my daughter? And stop that sniveling!"

Elise didn't dare look at him when she
whispered, "I'm Elise, and I've been looking after Mimi, since the day I
spilled my bag all over your doorstep. I'm sorry. I should have told you then
that Jem made me switch with her. I was going to resign the next day, but you
wouldn't let me, and then, well, then it was too late."

Marco didn't say anything. He just stood there
unmoving his eyes seeing through her, until Elise put a tentative hand on his
arm.

His low, furious growl gave her goose bumps all
over, but his next words cut her heart in half.

"Don't you ever touch me again,
woman."

And before she could blink, the slam of the door
rattling the pictures on the wall had her sinking to her knees, as her world
came crashing down around her.

Chapter Seventeen

Elise splashed cold water in her face in a vain
effort to get rid of the sluggishness that held her in its firm grip. She'd
cried herself to sleep last night – at least she must have fallen asleep at
some point –because the harsh knocking on her door half an hour ago found her
on her face on the damp bedcovers.

"We are out of here in half an hour. I
suggest you're ready, wife." Marco's ice-cold words caused a fresh deluge
of tears until she gave herself a firm talking to.

She was
not
a cry baby, and tears never
solved anything. So what if she had fallen in love with him? She wasn't the
first, and she wouldn't be the last woman on earth to fall in love with a man
who didn't love her, and no one had ever died of unrequited love. Right?

Damn right, Elise. You don't need a man; you
managed perfectly well before he came along, and you will do so again. You
will. You just have to!

A bit of makeup would hopefully sort the bags
under her eyes, and she would walk out of here holding her head high. If her
heart was bleeding, then only she would know that.

Another loud knock on the door made her jump.
Sheesh.
She
had ten minutes yet. Straightening her shoulders, she welcomed the sudden rush
of annoyance at his impatience. She flung the door open with a scowl, only to
find a smiling Giorgio leaning against the doorframe.