The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding(17)

“What are you doing?” Nico demanded. Releasing Amanda, he strode forward and clamped a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder to pull him back.

Her brother winced away, over-balancing at that sudden change of position. Like some toy that had lost its power, he twisted at the waist, began to fall.

Amanda screamed, plunging forward to grab Jonathan’s arm and a handful of his robe. She couldn’t hold him. It was Nico who threw an arm around her waist and grabbed Jonathan’s crutch with the other, using it as a brace.

Together, he and Amanda supported Jonathan until he could struggle upright again. They stood in a rigid circle of three, breathing hard.

Nico recovered first. “Mi dispiace,” he said in rough-edged apology. “I didn’t think. I just saw you—”

“It’s all right, I’d have done the same,” Jonathan answered. His smile was valiant but edged with agony, both physical and emotional, as he looked from Amanda to Nico. “I shouldn’t — probably shouldn’t have touched her. It’s just I wanted so badly for her to hear me? I wanted her to know I’m here for her.”

Nico’s face tightened, though he made no reply. With one hand still supporting Amanda’s brother, he looked around for a chair, pulled it toward them and helped lower him into it.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked in brusque concern. “Do you need something for pain?”

Jonathan shook his head. His gaze went to the girl in the bed, and it was as if no one else existed. If he was curious at all about their sudden appearance, he didn’t show it.

“Bene.” Nico signaled to the nurse who stood in the open doorway, an imperious gesture which asked that she come back later. He helped Jonathan slide further back in the chair then, and set the crutches out of the way, though not so far that they couldn’t be reached in case of need.

Amanda watched while contrary feelings collided inside her. Though she was furious with Nico de Frenza for causing her brother to fall, she was also grateful for his quick action that saved him from hitting the floor. His highhanded way of issuing orders rankled, but she was grateful he had not insisted Jonathan return at once to his own room.

Beneath these things ran fervid awareness. She could still feel the imprint of where his arm circled her while they supported Jonathan, was shaken by the impact of his effortless strength, also his fierce, protective tenderness toward his comatose sister.

How she longed for those things, almost against her will. She was capable of looking after herself, of course she was, yet she ached to be relieved, at least now and then, of the burden of responsibility she’d carried since her parents died. She wanted to be held close while finding the surcease of intimate bodily contact. In his arms, it seemed, everything would be all right. He would make it all right.

Such foolish thoughts, when she had been so angry with him earlier. Turning sharply away from Nico, she moved to stand looking down at his sister.

This was the first time she had seen Carita de Frenza, the girl with whom Jonathan had fallen so completely in love. She was a slender shape under the sheets, petite and fragile. Masses of dark, curling hair trailed from under the bandaging on her temple, and dark lashes, curling at the tips, made a fringe along her closed eyes. Her features were elegantly Roman, with a narrow feminine nose and high cheekbones. Her mouth was beautifully formed, with a sensual lower lip that seemed a family trademark. Even in her comatose state, there was a sweetness about her that reminded Amanda irresistibly of her twin.

“I wish you could have met her before,” Jonathan said, his voice a thread of sound as he sent Amanda a brief smile. “She wanted so badly to know you, wanted to go to the States on holiday to meet you.” He stopped abruptly, as if his throat had closed.

Amanda touched his good shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. “I’m sure the two of you will still do that.”

“It will be some time before she is well enough for such a thing,” Nico corrected, “if ever.”

Above her brother’s head, Amanda met his hard gaze. He held it as if daring her to comment. She firmed her lips, reluctant to disturb Jonathan by arguing, also uncertain of how much Carita might understand in the depths of her coma. Still, it was not possible to remain completely silent. “You can’t know that.”

“Never mind, Mandy.” Her brother put a hand over hers where it rested on his shoulder, looking up at her with a rueful smile. “You really can’t blame Nico. He’s just doing the same as you, taking care of somebody he loves.”

It was one way to look at it, not that she was inclined to be quite so reasonable. She said no more, however, for her brother’s sake.

They stood in silence, watching the slow rise and fall of Carita’s chest. Amanda caught herself studying the flat area of the girl’s abdomen, thinking she could not be so very far along in her pregnancy, wondering how the baby was faring, and if she knew, somehow, that the new life inside her was safe, at least for now.

It would be a beautiful baby if it looked like its mother, but especially if it had the lucky gene mixture of both its parents. Any child of Nico’s would look much the same, or so she imagined, with dark, curling hair and black, black eyes. If she was the mother, would it not also look a little like this one Jonathan had fathered?

Amanda drew a quick breath against the sudden hollow ache inside her. It didn’t mean a thing, of course, but was the natural reaction of a woman in her childbearing years to the thought of a baby of her own. It certainly had nothing to do with Nico de Frenza.

The nurse returned to the room with a wheelchair a few minutes later. This time, she could not be persuaded to leave without her patient. He had been out of bed too long already, she said, and must not overtax his strength.

Jonathan leaned to press a kiss to Carita’s forehead, whispering his farewell in her ear, promising to come again. He clasped Nico’s hand, and then allowed himself to be wheeled away.

Amanda walked beside him to his room, leaving Nico time alone with his sister, just as she would have a little more time with Jonathan.

Her brother’s adventure had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit, she thought. Once settled in his bed again, he accepted pain medication without protest. The moment the nurse went away, however, he caught Amanda’s hand, holding it in a close grip.

“What is it with you and Nico?” he asked. “Why is it you only visit with him?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Her smile was wan as she noted the worry in the depths of his gray eyes. “He was kind enough to suggest I stay at the villa.”

“Kind?”

“He didn’t have to offer, after all, just as he doesn’t have to arrange for me to come and go to see you.”

“That’s what bothers me, that he’s putting himself out for my sister.”

“It’s just a courtesy. Italians are very hospitable, I believe.”

“Not to their enemies, they’re not! And I am his enemy, to his way of thinking. He’d probably like to see me flayed alive for going out with Carita behind his back, much less for the accident.”

“Why was that? I mean, why see her without him knowing?”

“A race car driver isn’t exactly the husband he’d prefer for Carita, as you can imagine. She knew he’d kick up a fuss, make it hard for her to keep seeing me even if he didn’t forbid it outright. Her idea was to get her grandmother and aunt on her side first, let them help bring him around. I tried to tell her we should…” He stopped with a quick shake of his head.

“Should what?”

“Face him, make a clean breast of it. But she was afraid.”

“Afraid of Nico?”

Jonathan shook his head. “Just of the whole family pressure thing, tradition, duty, honor, all that. I don’t know, maybe she had it right.” He gave her an anxious look. “You’ll be careful, Mandy, won’t you? These people aren’t like us, not really.”

“The De Frenzas you mean?”

“They’re a breed apart, these billionaire upper crust Italians, particularly the men. They play by their own rules, feel privileged to do as they please within their own strict code.” He looked away for an instant. “They have so many women throwing themselves at them they figure any female is fair game.”

“As if women have never thrown themselves at you,” she said with a wry smile, “or you haven’t caught your fair share of them.”

He colored a little, but turned back to her with determination in his face. “That’s not the point.”

“What is, then? Carita is also a De Frenza, yet you have hopes there.”

“She’s younger and not as tied to the past, prefers to go her own way as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.” He spoke with assurance, as if he and Nico’s sister had discussed the problem and come to agreement.

“Maybe she can, maybe things aren’t as strict these days. You can’t tell me wealthy Italians never marry super models, starlets or even shop girls because I’ve seen stories in the papers.”

“I’m not talking about your normal millionaires. Nico is the Conte de Frenza, you know, from centuries-old aristocracy. Guys like him may keep a working class mistress now and then, but they marry their own kind.”