‘No, not just because of that, nor even because of the way you disappeared into the bathroom when we got back from my parents’ house and refused to look me in the eye,’ he iced back. ‘I’m not stupid, Molly. Don’t you realise that a man can tell when a woman is menstruating? That she looks different. Smells different.’
‘How could I ever be expected to match your encyclopaedic knowledge of women?’ she questioned bitterly. ‘When you’re the first man I’ve ever slept with.’
Salvio felt the pounding of a pulse at his temple. Was she using her innocence as a shield with which to defend herself? To deflect him from a far more disturbing possibility, but one he couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard he tried. ‘Or maybe you were never even pregnant in the first place,’ he accused silkily.
She reacted by swaying and sinking down onto a nearby sofa, as if his accusation had taken away her ability to stand. ‘You think that?’ she breathed, her fingers spreading out over her throat as if she was in danger of choking.
‘Why shouldn’t I think that?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve never actually seen any proof, have I? Is that why you didn’t want to tell my parents about the baby—not because it was “too early” but because there was no baby?’
‘You really believe—’ she shook her damp hair in disbelief ‘—that I would lie to you about something as important as that?’
‘How should I know what you’d do if you were desperate enough? We both know you were having trouble paying off your brother’s debt and that marriage to me would mean the debt would be wiped out overnight.’ His gaze bored into her. ‘And I was careful that night, Molly. You know I was.’
She was still staring at him as if he were the devil incarnate. ‘You’re saying that I...made it up? That the whole pregnancy was nothing but an invention?’
‘Why not? It’s not unheard of.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens less often these days but I understand in the past it was quite a common device, used by women keen to get a wedding ring on their finger.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Usually involving a wealthy man.’
Her body tensed and Salvio saw the change in her. Saw the moment when her habitual compliance became rebellion. When outrage filled her soft features with an unfamiliar rage which she was directing solely at him. Her eyes flashing pewter sparks, she sprang to her feet, damp hair flying around her shoulders.
‘I was pregnant,’ she flared, her hands gesturing wildly through the empty air. ‘One hundred per cent pregnant. I did two tests, one after the other—and if you don’t believe me, then that’s your problem! And yes, I was waiting until this morning to tell you, because last night I just couldn’t face having the kind of discussion we’re having now. So if keeping the news to myself for less than twelve hours is harbouring some dark secret, then yes—I’m guilty of that. But I’m not the only one with secrets, am I, Salvio?’
He heard the allegation in her voice as he met her furious gaze full on and braced himself for what was coming next.
‘When were you going to let me know you’d been engaged before?’ she continued, her voice still shaking with rage. ‘Or weren’t you going to bother?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘My mother told you?’
‘Of course your mother told me—how else would I know?’
‘What did she say?’
‘Enough.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I know the woman you were going to marry was rich and I’m not. I know she was beautiful and I’m not.’
Something about the weariness in her tone made Salvio feel a sharp pang of guilt. He stared at her shadowed eyes. At the milky skin now tinged with the dull flush of fury. At the still-drying shiny hair and the voluptuous curves which had lured him like a siren’s call into her arms. And he felt an unexpected wave of contrition wash over him.
‘You are beautiful,’ he stressed.
‘Please. Don’t,’ she said, holding up her hand to silence him. ‘Don’t make things even worse by telling me lies!’
Her dignified response surprised him. Had he been expecting gratitude for his throwaway compliment about her looks? Was he, in his own way, as guilty as Lady Avery had been of underestimating her? Of treating her like an object, rather than a person—as someone born to serve rather than to participate? Did he think he could behave exactly as he liked towards her and she would just take it?
‘You are beautiful,’ he affirmed, as repentance flowed through him. ‘And yes, I was engaged before. I didn’t tell you because...’
‘Because it’s too painful for you to remember, I suppose?’
The pulse at Salvio’s temple now flickered. In a way, yes, very painful—though not in the way he suspected she meant. It was more about the betrayal he’d suffered than anything else because, like all Neapolitans, he had an instinctive loathing of treachery. It had come as a shock to realise that Lauren hadn’t loved him—only what he represented. He gave a bit
ter smile. Perhaps he should have had a little more empathy for Molly since he too had been treated like an object in his time. ‘It happened a long time ago,’ he said slowly. ‘And there seemed no reason to rake it up.’
She looked at him in exasperation. ‘Don’t you know anything about women? On second thought, don’t answer that since we’ve already proved beyond any reasonable doubt that what you don’t know about women probably isn’t worth knowing. Except maybe you don’t know just how far you can push them before they finally snap.’ She tugged the towelling belt of her white robe a little tighter. ‘Who was she, Salvio?’
Salvio scowled. Did he really have to tell her? Rake up the bitterness all over again? He expelled air from his flared nostrils, recognising from the unusually fierce expression on Molly’s face that he had to tell her. ‘Her name was Lauren Meyer,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I met her at an official function on a pre-season tour of America and brought her back here with me to Naples.’
‘And she was blonde, I suppose?’
‘Yes, she was blonde,’ he said, ignoring her sarcastic tone. ‘What else do you want to know, Molly? That she was an heiress and that she loved fame and fortune, in that order?’
‘Did she?’