Constantino's Pregnant Bride by Catherine Spencer

Author:Catherine Spencer
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2003-01-22T05:00:00+00:00

The blue suite turned out to be a dim and cavernous pair of overfurnished rooms, with cold marble floors, heavy, dark draperies at the windows, and a vaguely damp smell permeating the air. It lay at the end of a long corridor on the third floor, and Cassie feared for the poor soul commandeered to show her the way.

Speranza was an ancient little lady, doubled over with age, arthritis, or a combination of both, and how she managed the stairs so nimbly was nothing short of extraordinary. She spoke not a word of English, but her eyes, though sharply observant, were kind, and her smile genuine as she pointed out il balcone off the sitting area, the massive iron four-poster in the bedroom, and finished off the grand tour with the en suite bathroom.

“Il bagno,” she declared proudly, flinging open the door with a flourish. “Moderno, si?”

“Si,” Cassie agreed, although there was no shower stall and the deep, claw-foot tub and washbasin, with their large brass faucets, bore the stamp of an earlier era. But the toilet and bidet were of more recent vintage, and the towels, folded neatly on a glass shelf, thick and luxurious. “Grazie.”

“Prego!” Nodding and smiling encouragingly, the old woman poked herself in the chest. “Sono Speranza,” she declared.

“You’re Speranza?”

“Si, si!” Eyebrows raised inquiringly, she pointed at Cassie. “Come si chiama?”

“Cassie,” she replied, guessing she’d been asked her name.

“Cass-ee. Eccellente!” Grinning approval, Speranza patted her arm, then shuffled back to her duties below stairs, leaving a vast and lonely silence in her wake.

Were the other rooms on this floor occupied, or were she and Benedict to live up here in splendid isolation, Cassie wondered, drawing back the draperies in the bedroom, and gazing down at the courtyard.

To her surprise, she saw Benedict there, hauling their luggage out of the car, with Elvira standing close by. Gesticulating wildly, she spoke to him in rapid, staccato bursts, and although her words were indistinguishable, her voice, hoarse with urgency—or anger—floated clearly up the chimneylike enclosure formed by the surrounding walls.

Eventually, Benedict answered with something short and imperative which stopped her in midstream. She took a step back from him, held a hand to each side of her perfectly coiffed head, and rocked it back and forth as if in great pain. After observing her in silence a moment, he spoke again, less harshly this time, but the genuine affection Cassie had witnessed between him and his sister the evening before was markedly absent.

Elvira spat a reply and turned to stare across the courtyard which lay cast in shadow already, even though the sky remained a clear and tranquil blue. A still, black figure in a gray and somber setting, she’d have resembled the evil witch in a fairy tale had she been bent and gnarled with age. Instead, she stood tall and regally proud, every line in her body proclaiming her a woman who’d make a formidable enemy for anyone who, in any way, thwarted her ambitions.

Suddenly, as if sensing she was being observed, she tilted her gaze up to the window three floors above.

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