Wife in the Shadows by Sara Craven Page B

She paused. ‘And now, Contessa, you should rest before dinner.’ However, her discreet twinkle as she departed suggested that it was the hours following dinner for which her young mistress should principally be refreshed and ready.
    I’m such a fraud, Ellie thought wearily as the door closed behind the good woman. But, all the same, she had to admit the idea of a rest was appealing, although not on that enormous bed with all its implications which she would deal with when she had to.
    However, there was a couch shaped like a particularly luxurious
chaise longue
by the shuttered window which would answer her requirements perfectly.
    Ellie removed her shoes, her tights and, carefully, her dress, revealing the exquisite lingerie—bra, briefs and half-slip—also in soft blue silk, that she wore beneath it, just part of the
corredo da sposa
that the Principessa had firmly insisted on providing.
    All of it far more glamorous than anything I’d have chosen for myself, she thought with a sigh, as she stretched out on the cushions, and, under the circumstances, a total waste of money.
    As were the wages of this maid who’d been hired for her, of course, but she realised that this was an issue where it might be wiser to give way, as a nod in the direction of some kind of marital harmony.
    After all I can’t fight him about everything, she acknowledged dispiritedly. So I should save my ammunition for the battles that really matter. Whatever they turn out to be.
    And found herself sighing again.
    Angelo surveyed the information on his computer screen with tight-lipped satisfaction, and a certain relief. It seemed as if the finance deal with Credito Europa was going through without the last-minute hitches and prevarication that he had half-expected.
    Apparently the Crocodile is a man of his word, after all, he thought cynically. And I, may God help me, am now married.
    He pushed back his chair and stood up. He would have to return to Rome at some point to sign the necessary documentation, but that would not be a problem.
    After all, his new bride was hardly likely to regret his absence, he thought coldly.
Al contrario,
having turned a once charming room into an efficient and characterless workspace as he’d recently observed, she would probably welcome his departure. See it as an opportunity to further the career that meant so much to her.
    He wondered why the idea of her continuing to work for Avortino was irritating him so much. Surely he should welcome anything that would occupy her attention and keep her from enquiring too closely into his own activities.
    And he should not have allowed his annoyance over her stubborn resistance to his wishes—or her apparent assumption that she was the only sufferer in their present situation—to get the better of him and goad him into inflicting on her that travesty of a kiss.
    The holy saints knew it was the last thing he’d ever intended, he thought moodily. He’d planned to be kind and courteous,putting her at her ease in difficult circumstances, and instead he’d acted like the worst kind of boor.
    His behaviour had been unbelievable, he told himself, besides creating an awkwardness between them that he knew he must somehow put right before it became unforgivable too.
    Because, however rarely it might be, they were still committed to sharing a roof, and it would be helpful if they were able to do this with some degree of accord, even if it was only in public.
    Mouth twisting, he took the Credito Europa’s letter of confirmation from the printer. At least he could show her that there had already been some benefit from this unwanted marriage. That their mutual sacrifice was partially justified at least.
    But it was by no means certain that he could persuade her to see it that way. He accepted ruefully now that it had been a serious error of judgement as well as unkind to describe her as ‘a nonentity’. She had a mind and a will of her own, the little Elena, and, it was clear, no