âNO,â SAID Emily. She spoke with cool clarity, but her green eyes flashed at the two lawyers on the other side of the desk. âNot a divorce. You will kindly inform your client that I want an annulment.â
The younger man gasped audibly and received a reproving glance from his senior, Arturo Mazzini, who took off his glasses, wiped them and replaced them on his nose.
âBut, Contessa,â he said gently, âthat is surely justâa question of emphasis. The important matter must be the actual dissolution of your marriage, not how it is done.â
His placatory smile was not returned.
âI can decide for myself what is, or is not important,â said Emily. âA divorceâeven the no-fault variety that your client is offeringâsuggests that a marriage really existed between us. I wish to make it perfectly clear to the world that it has not. That I am not, and never have been, the wife of Count Rafaele Di Salisâin the usual sense of the word,â she added.
Signor Mazzini looked appalled. âClearâto the world?â he repeated. âBut you cannot mean that, Contessa. Any arrangement between yourself and the Conte Di Salis must be a private one, its terms not meant to be divulged.â
âI wasnât responsible for the arrangement of my marriage,â Emily told him stonily. âMy father was. Nor did I offer any guarantees about the ending of it. And please donât call me Contessa,â she went on. âItâs hardly appropriate under the circumstances. Miss Blake will be just fine.â
There was an uneasy silence. Signor Mazzini produced a fine linen handkerchief and applied it to his forehead.
âIs it too warm in here, signore?â his antagonist asked more kindly. âWould you like me to open a window?â
Both men repressed a shiver. There had been a sharp frost that morning and the formal gardens around Langborne Manor were still silvered over. Indoors, too, the elderly central heating system left a lot to be desired, although, to Signor Mazziniâs certain knowledge, the Conte Di Salis had offered more than once in the past three years to have it replaced.
âYou are all goodness,â he returned. âBut no, I thank you.â There was a pause, then he leaned forward. âContessaâMiss BlakeâI beg you to reconsider. The divorce would be a mere formality and the settlement terms my client proposes are more than generous.â
âI want nothing from the Count.â Emily lifted her chin. âAs soon as Iâm twenty one, he will no longer be in control of my affairs. My fatherâs money and this house will finally be mine. I need nothing else.â
She sat back in her chair, the low winter sun slanting in through the long sash window behind her striking fire from her auburn hair.
Young Pietro Celli pretended to busy himself with the papers in the file in front of him while he studied her unobtrusively. Too thin, too pale and altogether too tense, he thought, recalling with renewed appreciation the frankly sinuous curves of the Countâs latest mistress, which he had been permitted to admire on a number of occasionsâalthough only from a discreet distance.
The slim hands were bare, he noticed, so heaven only knew what the Countâs soon-to-be-ex-wife had done with His Excellencyâs wedding ring, or the Di Salis sapphire, which would have to be returned, of course, however the marriage reached its end.
But her eyesâMadonna mia!âthey were amazingâthe colour of emeralds, and with those long lashes too. However, the rest of the faceânondescript, he decided with a mental shrug.
And clearly a virago along with all her other faults. Small wonder, then, if a connoisseur of women like Rafaele Di Salis had opted for a marriage in name only. Who could blame him?
âUnless, of course, your client has gambled my entire inheritance away on some dodgy financial deal,â this impossible young woman was adding lightly. âPerhaps youâve been sent here to break the bad news.â
Signor Mazzini bristled, while Pietro felt his jaw drop and had to hastily recover himself.
âThat is a most damaging allegation, signorina,â the older man said at last, his voice icy. âYour husband has dealt with the trust in an exemplary manner, have no doubt of that. You will be a wealthy young woman.â Much wealthier than you deserve, the note in his voice suggested.
Emily sighed. âI wasnât serious. Iâm perfectly aware that Count Di Salis is one of the stars of the world of finance.â She added stiltedly, âAnd, naturally, Iâm grateful for anything heâs been able to do on my behalf.â
The lawyer spread his hands, almost helplessly. âThen, if I may be permitted to ask, why not show your gratitude by acceding to the plan for a divorce?â
Emily pushed her chair back and rose. She walked over to the window and stood looking out. Her slender figure was clad in a cream woollen shirt tucked into close-fitting black cord trousers, with a wide leather belt reducing her waist to a handspan. The rich glow of her hair was drawn back to the nape of her neck and fastened with a black ribbon bow.