The Sicilian Duke's Demand

Her mouth opened to tell him to shove it, but she caught David’s warning eye and managed, for once, to control her tongue. But nothing on earth, she told herself firmly, would persuade her to go on any guided tour with Alessandro Mandalà!

The conversation slipped into less controversial channels and it became a happy, animated meal. Except, that was, for Isobel, who could hardly eat a mouthful of the delicious food for the ball of anger in her stomach. She’d already had a taste of the Duke of Mandalà’s morality that morning.

He could have told her who he was out there at the wreck. Instead, he had preferred to make a fool of her, terrify her, then force his odious attentions on her. Some joke. And now here he was, charming the birds out of the trees, favouring them all with his opinions on morality!

The meal drew to a close with exquisite Sicilian cassata ice cream and liqueurs. Their host suggested brandy and cigars on the terrace, to which the men readily assented.

Isobel rose abruptly. ‘I don’t care for the smell of cigar smoke in my hair,’ she said. ‘And I’ve had a long day. I hope you’ll all excuse me if I go to bed early.’

‘But this is devastating,’ Alessandro said, laying his hand on his heart. ‘The golden moon sets and the night is left bereft.’

‘Like I said, it’s been a tough one,’ she replied frostily.

‘Can I beg one favour before you go?’ he asked, rising to tower over her. ‘Show me the artefacts you have recovered from the wreck.’

‘I—’

‘The gentleman need not bother themselves,’ he purred. ‘Go to the terrace, my friends. Turi will serve you with cigars and cognac and I will join you in a moment. But I must see these treasures before the stars go out and the night grows utterly dark.’

Her jaw was clenched so tight that she was probably doing her teeth irreparable damage. But there was no way she could refuse such a direct request from their host in front of the others.

And as they descended the carved marble staircase together he had the effrontery to link his arm through hers, as though they were the oldest of friends!

‘Let me go,’ she snapped, trying to jerk her arm out of his grip. ‘How dare you touch me?’

‘These stairs are treacherous,’ he murmured, unmoved. ‘The third duchess tripped and fell down them in seventeen eighty-three, breaking her lovely neck. There is a statue of her in the billiard-room, and they say it sheds real tears on the anniversary of her death.’

‘Very funny,’ she snapped. ‘I know it was you this morning!’

‘And I know it was you,’ he replied easily.

‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were,’ she demanded fiercely, ‘instead of making such a fool of me?’

‘You dragged me out of the water by my beard,’ he reminded her. ‘There wasn’t much opportunity for introductions.’

‘Yes, and what happened to the beard and the long hair?’ she demanded.

‘It’s a long story.’

‘You’ve told plenty tonight,’ she said grimly. ‘Long and tall.’

He chuckled. ‘When you saw me this morning, I had just returned from a—well, let’s call it a field trip.’

‘A what?’ she snorted.

‘A sojourn in a country where all the men wear long hair and beards. It was necessary to blend in.’

‘So you could steal some priceless artwork?’

‘I told you—the scrolls shed vital light on the development of a major world religion.’

She glanced at him quickly. ‘So that’s supposed to be a true story?’

‘Quite true, oh, moon of my delight.’

‘Don’t call me pet names!’ she shot back at him. ‘And was this where they wanted to shoot you?’

‘I had a gun to my head for three days,’ he replied easily, ‘while they argued over whether to execute me or not.’

Despite herself, her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God.’

‘Not all the guerrillas wanted to sell the scrolls, you see. There was a faction who were determined to burn them—because they were written by people with a religion different from their own.’

‘You risked your life for money?’

‘Not at all, dear heart. I risked my life to save the historical record.’

She swung on him, her eyes igniting into green fire, her mouth turning into a passionate pink curve. ‘Oh, please! I’m not impressed by you. And I’m not impressed by your stories, either. They’re all lies. You’re not half the man your grandfather was! You’re surrounded by huge wealth, but you still feel the need to go out and steal. You don’t deserve all this!’

‘Perhaps I don’t,’ he said calmly. ‘But you’re being a prig, siren lady.’

‘I am not a prig!’

‘You are a prig, and a naïve one at that. You think that what you see all around you is wealth. It’s not. A Rubens on the wall doesn’t generate a penny. In fact, it costs a fortune just to keep it hanging there. What do you think it costs to keep up a place like this?’

Isobel was silent.

‘My grandfather could afford to bury himself in scholarship,’ he went on, ‘because he was convinced that he was a rich man. He died with that conviction intact, I’m glad to say. But I had to start working at seventeen, Isobel. So that we didn’t lose everything. It took me ten years of hard work to pay off his debts. And another ten years to build up the family fortune again.’ He smiled at her, a subtle and complex smile. They had reached the basement now, and he switched on the arc lamps, flooding the marble expanses with light. ‘Now, please show me your haul.’

‘There’s nothing to impress a man of your tastes,’ she said shortly. ‘These amphorae you see here. A bit of an anchor. And, of course, the coins.’

‘Yes, the coins.’ He peered into the plastic tub. ‘What are they soaking in?’

‘It’s Theo’s secret formula. I don’t know what he puts in it.’

He picked up the plastic tongs and fished in the tub. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said, withdrawing the gold Poseidon coin. He rinsed it under the tap and dried it carefully. It glinted in the light. ‘The old goat and his fork.’

Isobel knew that her face was flaming red again. Pale skin and auburn hair showed every change of temperature—and right now she was very hot indeed. ‘What were you doing down at the wreck, anyway?’ she demanded resentfully. ‘Stealing from an archaeological site on your own doorstep?’

‘Hardly.’ He studied the coin. ‘It’s a magnificent thing, isn’t it?’

‘There are more important coins,’ she said tersely.

‘Not to me,’ he replied. ‘To me, this will always be the most important coin in the world—because today it bought me the most beautiful experience of my life.’

‘Don’t you ever give up?’ she said, her voice unsteady. ‘You can see I don’t like you. Why do you persist in this flirtation?’

‘But you liked being kissed by me,’ he said softly, his eyes meeting hers directly. ‘Wasn’t it a landmark in your life, too?’