Claimed by the Italian: Virgin: Wedded at the Italian's Convenience / Count Giovanni's Virgin / The Italian's Unwilling Wife

He gave her an encouraging smile, confident that, as always, he had reached the right decision and that, having done so, his strength of character and dominant will would prevail.

In receipt of another of those nerve-tingling smiles, Lily felt her mouth run dry, but she finally managed, ‘Why are you here?’

‘Of course—the proposal I put to your great-aunt,’ he slid in smoothly. ‘You may not know it, but I, both personally and corporately, donate huge sums to worthwhile charities. Now, Life Begins is worthwhile, but it is seriously underfunded and understaffed. You stagger from one financial crisis to another, and your great-aunt is no longer young enough to do much. You rely on two part-time volunteers. The rest you somehow manage yourself—cleaning, shopping, driving the old and infirm to hospital appointments, organising outings. Need I go on?’

Lily’s chin firmed. Penny must have told him all this stuff. In the short time that the older woman had been at Felton Hall they’d become very friendly, and she’d told her a lot about the charity.

‘You’ve been talking to Penny,’ she stated flatly.

Was he about to offer to make another donation? Her nerves skittered. What would he ask of her in return? Or was her tiredness making her paranoid? Perhaps he genuinely wanted to help and there would be no unpleasant strings—like making her agree to be part of a lie. He’d already said he donated generously to many worthwhile charities …

He agreed. ‘Yes, I talked to Miss Fleming on my return to London a couple of days ago. Briefly. She was highly impressed with what you do. But in the interim I’ve been camping out at the Hall and making enquiries locally of my own.’

She began to relax and feel sorry that she’d misjudged him. Especially when he went on, ‘You need proper funding to pay a reasonable salary to a locally based fundraiser and organiser whose job would include recruiting volunteers. And you need a small local office where this administrative work—which I would fund on an annual basis—would be done. Run properly, the charity could even begin to expand its area of operation. This is the proposal I put to your aunt. She couldn’t have been more grateful.’

‘It would be the answer to her prayers!’ Lily confessed, forgiving him entirely for metaphorically twisting her arm when he’d offered that first donation.

It would be the answer to her own prayers, too. She loved the work, but hated the never-ending anxiety about funding and fitting everything in, the constant fear that they’d have to stop operations and let all those sweet oldies down.

‘You’re very generous,’ Lily said fervently, her huge eyes glittering with emotion-fuelled moisture. Then she reminded herself that she should be generous, too, and make belated enquiries about his sick mother—even gently ask if he had spoken to her about his fake engagement or whether he’d thought better of it.

‘Generosity has its price, unfortunately,’ Paolo drawled levelly, getting to his feet.

Suddenly he wasn’t comfortable about this, but needs must. He had always been protective of his mother—even more so since the death of Antonio and her visibly increasing frailty. And his mother’s needs came before his own.

‘Why am I not surprised?’ Her heart sinking, Lily curled her legs beneath her and shuffled back in the chair as far as she could go, distancing herself from his smothering, dominant presence. ‘I might have known you operate on the maxim that there’s no such thing as a free lunch—so what’s your price?’ she muttered disparagingly.

‘Two weeks of your life,’ he came back, smooth as silk. ‘As I’d hoped, the news of my engagement gave my mother great happiness. Enough, indeed, to give her a new lease on life. She’s made steady progress since the operation that her consultant warned had only a slight chance of success. I firmly believe that the news of my engagement enabled her to pull through. Now, naturally, she is insistent that she meet my fiancée.’

‘And you want me to—’ Appalled by what he was suggesting, Lily planted her feet on the floor and sprang to attention. ‘No way! Look, I’m truly glad your mother’s doing well, but I did warn you what could happen if you lied!’ And then she wished she’d stayed scrunched up in the armchair, because he was suddenly close. Far too close. He was so beautiful he made her feel giddy. How unfair that such a prize specimen of Mediterranean manhood should be so devious. And have such an effect on her!

She was an adult—a grounded adult—not some silly teenager drooling over some unattainable pop star, for goodness’ sake!

Viewing her flushed features, the over-bright eyes, Paolo responded wryly, ‘You gave warning of an outcome that fills me with joy. I am not about to regret it. Now—’ His hands parted his suit jacket and slid into the side pockets of his elegant trousers, drawing Lily’s fascinated attention to the sleek narrowness of his hips. She swallowed roughly and he continued, ‘You know what I have proposed regarding the future well-being of Life Begins. In return I shall want you to spend a couple of days in London while I set the ball in motion. Then accompany me to Florence, where you will act the part of a newly engaged woman, satisfy my mother, and then return here.’

‘Get one of your leggy model-types to do it!’ Lily shot back at him, recalling with ire the serial simpering arm-candy blondes pictured clinging to him when she’d avidly scoured the internet for information about him, driven by a curiosity she hadn’t been able to control.

His fascinatingly sexy mouth indented slightly, fabulous lashes lowering over the golden impact of his eyes. ‘What a short memory you have,’ he drawled, adding insult to injury when he added, ‘No way does a leggy blonde fit the description of a vertically challenged toffee-head. I described Lily Frome, my brand-new fiancée, down to her small nose—remember?’

Outraged by his unflattering description of her, Lily fought to restrain the impulse to hit him. The words blistered her tongue as she got out, ‘I won’t do it! Go—and don’t come back!’ Adding, in case he wasn’t fully on message, ‘And take your funding offer with you—I won’t be paid to act out a lie to a trusting old lady!’

‘As you wish.’ Paolo dipped his dark head just briefly, his strong features giving nothing away. He knew precisely when to press a point and when to stand back and wait until, inevitably, his will prevailed.

He walked towards the door, turned. ‘If you’re happy to disappoint your great-aunt and let down the people who rely on your help, so be it.’ And he left her.

The now fuming bundle of scrawny womanhood needed time to cool down.

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD taken only one restless night for her to reluctantly recognise that by turning down Paolo Venini’s offer of funding because of her principles she was being pretty selfish. An uncomfortable reality that had made sleep impossible.

When she had arrived down for breakfast, drained and bleary-eyed, her great-aunt had clinched the matter by asking, with the eager chirpiness that had been missing for many months, ‘So, what did you think of Signor Venini’s proposal of funding? I told him that I, personally, was overwhelmed with gratitude, but that the final decision had to be yours, because of late I’ve been something of a passenger.’

‘Nonsense! Without you, and the need you saw, Life Begins wouldn’t even exist.’

Lily had been worried over her elderly relative’s recent decline into a state of fretful anxiety. She’d tried to keep their financial problems from her, but the old lady was anything but a fool.

‘And without you it would have ceased to exist,’ Edith pointed out, forecasting, ‘Even with all the hard work you put in it still wouldn’t have been too long before we would have had to concede defeat—I may be ancient but I’m not senile!’ Sitting at the breakfast table, she poured tea and unfolded her linen napkin briskly. ‘Don’t hover, child. Eat your toast. I hope you were properly grateful to Signor Venini—with him as a benefactor we can go from strength to strength. I haven’t felt less troubled for many months. I feel ten years younger this morning.’

So that meant two old ladies had been given reinvigorating hope—Signora Venini and Great-Aunt Edith—and Life Begins would continue to help those unable to help themselves. All courtesy of Paolo Venini’s blackmailing tactics!

Driving to the Hall, swallowing her pride along with her conscience, was the hardest thing Lily had ever had to do. But stay on the high moral ground, as everything in her prompted, and she’d be letting so many people down.

Opening the main door before she’d even had time to cut the engine—almost as if he’d been waiting for her—Paolo received her change of tune without the merest hint of surprise—as if he’d fully expected that, too—and only the very slightest dip of his sleek dark head informed her that he had actually registered her words.

‘Come. There is much to be done.’ Moving ahead of her, his stride long and loose, he led the way to the study. Dressed this morning in beautifully cut chinos and a midnight-blue cashmere sweater that hugged the impressive width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist like a second skin, he was super-spectacular, and—contrarily—made her wish she’d taken some trouble with her own appearance. Not rushed out barefaced, dressed in her badly fitting cords and shabby fleece that she usually wore when working.

Vastly annoyed with herself for that unwelcome and foolish thought, she sat herself down when his abrupt hand gesture indicated the seat in front of the desk. She was beneath his notice. If she was dressed in jewel-encrusted satin with a crown on her head he still wouldn’t see her.

And why the heck should she want him to notice her? Stupid! He might be gorgeous to look at, but he was rotten inside. A man who would lie to his own mother, a blackmailer, a womaniser, with a chunk of ice where his heart was supposed to be. Any woman who fell in love with him was doomed to bitter heartbreak or worse—as proven by what had happened to the wife who had begun to bore him!

Seated, his hand near his cellphone, his tone was clipped as he told her, ‘The previous owner’s housekeeper and handyman husband occupied a spacious conversion in what used to be a stable block here. It will provide adequate living and office space for the fundraiser/organiser I intend to put in place. I’m interviewing two possibles tomorrow.’

‘You arranged that before you knew I’d agree to be blackmailed?’ Her face an outraged pink, Lily could have slapped him for his out-and-out arrogance—for the wealth and clout that ensured he could make things happen just because he wanted them to.

A slight upward drift of one strong ebony brow dismissed her outburst, and he continued blandly. ‘You will give me the relevant details of your part-time volunteers—names, addresses, phone numbers—and I’ll persuade them to work full-time while you’re away. Make your diary available to me. I’ll drop by and convince your great-aunt that you need a short break. A chauffeur will pick you up at five to drive you to my London apartment, where I will join you in two days’ time—the night before we fly to Florence. I suggest you go home and pack.’

‘Can’t.’

Everything was happening at breakneck speed. Lily felt as if she were being dragged by wild horses over uncharted territory, so it came as a powerful relief to find herself able to put a stop to his dictatorial handling of the situation. She met his eyes, iced-over gold, then tilted her small pointed chin at a stubborn angle.

‘I’m due at Maisie Watkins’ house. She’s recently had a hip replacement operation, so I walk her dog every morning and do a bit of cleaning for her. Then there’s other stuff. I’ll be working all day. There’s absolutely no need for me to kick my heels in your London pad when I could be here doing something useful!’ She almost added So there! but thought better of it, because he was looking at her as if she were an irritating fly that needed swatting.

‘There’s every need,’ he countered grimly, penetrating eyes sweeping with barely veiled distaste over her scraped-back hair and down to her scruffy trainers.

‘Madre is not simple-minded. She would never believe I plan to marry a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp,’ he condemned toughly, determined not to be swayed by the momentary flash of hurt in those clear grey eyes, or the way her shoulders slumped, as if she were trying to hide herself in that awful thing she wore above a pair of trousers that wouldn’t look out of place on a farm labourer.

‘I don’t mean to be unkind.’ The words, softly spoken, came out of nowhere. Took him by surprise. He breathed in deeply, got himself back on track and continued with chilling bite. ‘I do know what I’m doing—believe me. To that end I’ve arranged for a personal shopper to call for you at my London address at ten tomorrow morning. She has carte blanche to kit you out in the kind of clothes Madre will expect to see on the woman I’ve chosen to be my wife. Similarly, an appointment has been made for you with a top hairstylist.’ He swept up the phone, dismissing her. ‘Whatever else you have to do today, be ready to leave at five. You can see yourself out.’ And he began to key in numbers.

So here she was, in the guestroom of Paolo’s spacious London penthouse apartment, ears pinned back for the sound of his arrival, with her hair expertly styled into a sleek jaw-length bob, two horrendously expensive suitcases packed with horrendously expensive designer gear which had been virtually forced on her at the side of the bed, and his jibe about her looking like a scrubbed-faced child with the dress sense of a tramp still rankling.

What woman would go out made-up to the nines and wearing her best gear to walk a big unruly dog, wash floors and clean windows and stuff? Or were the women who entered the rarefied atmosphere of his life always perfectly groomed, elegantly attired—looking decorative their only justification for taking up space on the planet? Probably!

Her heart jumped as her straining ears caught the sound of footfalls. He’d arrived.

It was a big apartment, all polished hardwood floors, stark white walls and the minimum of furniture. Leather and steel stuff, nothing in the way of softness. Not at all homey—like the man himself.

Her heart-rate quickened as she heard him draw closer. He was pausing outside her room now.