A Whisper of Disgrace(33)
‘No! No!’ And to Rosa’s horror, she burst into tears. All the tears she’d been bottling up ever since her mother had blurted out the horrible truth now came spilling out. She hadn’t dared to give in to the danger of crying before, terrified that once she started she might never stop. She had needed all her energy and her strength to get away from Sicily and the dark web of deceit which had been woven into her life for all these years. But now that the tears had begun, they seemed unstoppable. They slid down her cheeks and onto her breasts, dripping from the prominent curves to fall in a growing damp mark on the pristine linen sheet. ‘I d-don’t know what it is, but it’s not that,’ she declared raggedly. ‘My mother and my uncle were not related by blood.’
‘But they were related by honour!’
‘Yes, they were!’ She glared at him, wiping away the falling tears with a clenched fist. ‘Don’t you think this has been difficult enough, without you, a complete stranger, getting on your high horse and taking the moral high ground?’
‘But I am not a “complete stranger,” Rosa. I am your husband!’
His words seemed to bring her to her senses and she shook her head. ‘But only as a symbol,’ she whispered. ‘As an expedient measure which suits us both. You’re not a real husband, Kulal—and a marriage of convenience doesn’t give you the right to stand in judgement of me, especially when this was something which was completely out of my control.’
For a moment there was a silence. Kulal stared at the fierce set of her lips, as if she was determined not to cry again. And he saw something in her which he recognised with a painful twist of his heart. Something he had buried so deep that he had almost forgotten its existence but which was now reflected in Rosa’s tearstained eyes. It was powerlessness, yes, but it was anger too—that in a single moment, your life could change for ever. For him, it had happened when his mother had scrambled up a rock to go to the aid of her trapped child. For Rosa it had happened when her mother had looked at her husband’s brother with lust in her eyes.
Damn the past, he thought viciously. And damn the never-ending repercussions of that past.
He walked across the room towards her and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her gaze slide briefly to the roughness of his naked thighs before she turned her head to stare into his face instead. He could see the wariness which had frozen her features and he took one of her cold hands in his. ‘You should have told me all this before,’ he said.
‘And would you have still married me?’
There was a pause as he imagined the reaction of the press, if ever this were to get out. He could read the desperate question in her eyes and he knew it would be the easiest thing in the world to tell her what she wanted to hear. But wasn’t it about time that people stopped lying to Rosa Corretti?
‘I don’t know,’ he said heavily.
It was not the answer she wanted, but strangely enough it comforted her. Much better to hear the harsh truth than honeyed words which meant nothing. And this was an honest relationship, wasn’t it? That’s what it had been from the very beginning. They hadn’t pretended to feel things they didn’t feel and they didn’t need to say things they didn’t mean. ‘You think it’s an easy thing to tell someone something like that?’ she questioned. ‘That I’m not burning up with shame having to admit it to you now?’
He heard the guilt which had distorted her voice and once again he felt the simmer of anger. ‘Of course it’s not easy. But this is not your shame. You are nothing but a victim in all this, Rosa.’
‘And I don’t want to be a victim! I’m fed up with being a damned victim!’ she declared, shaking her head so that her dark hair flew wildly about her bare shoulders. ‘But what would someone like you know about that?’
He heard the resentment in her voice and usually he would have brushed away her question, with all its inquisitive undertones. He didn’t tell women things about his feelings or his past because there was no need to. He kept his secrets hidden from everyone, even from himself. But her admission had made him feel uncomfortable—more than that, it had ignited painful memories which had lain dormant inside his own heart for so long. What could you say to a woman like Rosa Corretti, who had been forced to face such an intolerable situation? Wouldn’t it only be human kindness to open the door on his own suffering?
‘I know more than you would ever guess,’ he said slowly. ‘And at least you can rest assured that the dark secret in your life and the consequences of that secret were outside your control. At least you are not responsible for what happened to you.’