In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby

As soon as they had gone the Signora was on her feet with a hiss of impatience. ‘Are you mad? Why did you not take her to her room yourself? It was your chance to be alone with the little fool.’

His mouth tightened in the knowledge he had been sorely tempted to do exactly that, and had deliberately resisted the impulse. ‘I know what I am doing,’ he told her curtly. ‘Or do you want her to take fright, and scuttle off to Paolo for sanctuary?’

‘Take fright?’ she echoed contemptuously. ‘That one? What are you talking about?’

Alessio sighed. ‘I merely wish to point out that she does not seem a girl one would pick up in a bar. I am—surprised.’

She gave a harsh laugh. ‘So that look of mock innocence has deceived you, my worldly nephew, as it has my poor boy.’ She spread her hand. ‘Can you doubt how besotted he is with her? To ask for Nonna Caterina’s ring so brazenly. The ring I planned for him to give to Beatrice. I could not believe it.’

‘Neither, I think, could she,’ Alessio said drily. ‘Are you really so sure they are in love, or does he simply wish to sell the ring to pay off his gambling debts?’

‘Love?’ She almost spat the word, ignoring his jibe. ‘What does that mean? She is attracted by my son’s background—his position in the world. She believes he is also wealthy.’

‘Then show her his bank statements,’ Alessio said coldly. ‘That will cure her, and save me a great deal of trouble.’

‘But it will not cure him. You saw him this evening. He could not keep his hands off her.’

‘So it would seem,’ Alessio agreed slowly. ‘It is as well, perhaps, that they are sleeping at opposite ends of the house.’

‘You have forgotten this sightseeing tour tomorrow.’ The Signora frowned. ‘No doubt they will go only as far as the nearest hotel willing to rent them a room for a few hours.’

Alessio felt his mouth twist with sudden and profound distaste at the image her words conjured up, and denounced himself with silent savagery for being a hypocrite.

He said icily, ‘Then I suggest, my dear aunt, that you too develop a sudden interest in the local attractions. You have not, after all, seen the Giotto frescos in the basilica at Assisi since their restoration. Go with them, and act as chaperon, if you think it is necessary. And take the dog with you. Teach him to bite Paolo each time he touches the girl.’

‘Oh, there is no reasoning with you when you are in this mood.’ The Signora swept to the door. ‘I will bid you goodnight.’ She turned and gave him a measuring look. ‘But our agreement still stands. Be in no doubt of that.’

When he was alone, Alessio walked over to the piano, and stood picking out a few notes with one finger, his face thoughtful. He found himself remembering the delicate flush that had warmed Laura’s pale skin when she’d looked up and seen him watching and listening in the doorway. Recalled even more acutely how her clean fragrance had assailed his senses as he’d knelt beside her to free her skirt.

The dress had been a beguiling one altogether, he thought. In other circumstances it would have been so simple to release the sash, and let it fall apart, revealing the warm sweetness beneath the silvery folds. So enticing to touch her as he wished, and feel her smooth skin under his mouth.

He found himself smiling, wondering if she would blush as deeply when she was aroused.

Not a wise thought to take to bed with you, he told himself wryly as he began to turn off the lights in the room. And he must be insane to indulge in this kind of adolescent fantasy about a girl he needed to keep, coolly and clinically, on the far edge of his life. But, then, only a fool would have allowed himself to be caught in this kind of trap in the first place.

And found he was sighing with unexpected bitterness as he walked to the door.

It was a long time before Laura fell asleep that night. She was tired, but aware of too many disturbing vibrations in the house to be able to relax completely. And her one recurring thought was that she was no longer sure she could go on with this charade, which was becoming far too complicated.

And, she suspected, unmanageable.

What was Paolo going to demand she did next? she asked herself, exasperated. Actually become engaged to him?

Once she’d got him to herself tomorrow, she would be able to talk to him seriously, she thought with determination. Persuade him that things had gone far enough, and his mother had been given sufficient shocks to last a lifetime. Surely the Signora must be convinced by now that her plan to marry him off was dead in the water—especially after that stunt he’d pulled at dinner, she thought grimly. They didn’t need to take any more risks.

Now, somehow, she had to persuade him to take her away from the Villa Diana. Or, if she was really honest, separate her from its owner.

In spite of the heat, she found herself shivering.

She had been following Guillermo through the passages when it had suddenly hit her just how much she’d been hoping that the Count himself would offer to accompany her.

And how many kinds of madness was that? she asked herself with a kind of despair.

She’d been in his company for only a few hours, and already her awareness of him was threatening to spin out of control.

For God’s sake, grow up, she told herself wearily, giving the pillows a thump.

Yes, there’d been times when the courtesy she knew he’d have shown to any guest under his roof had seemed to slip into kindness, but that could have been an attempt to make amends for his aunt’s unfailing rudeness. And she’d be fooling herself if she thought otherwise, even for a moment.

The Arleschi Bank was considered a model of its kind, keenly efficient, highly respected, and superbly profitable, which was why Harman Grace were so keen to represent it. And it was clear that the bank’s chairman played a key role in its achievements.

Count Alessio Ramontella lived in the full radiance of the sun, Laura thought, whereas she occupied some small, cold planet on the outmost edge of the solar system. That was the way it was, and always would be. And it was her bad luck that their paths had ever been forced to cross.

She closed her eyes against the memory of his smile, its sudden brilliance turning the rather ruthless lines of his mouth to charm and humour. She tried to forget, too, the warmth of that swift brush of his lips on her hand, and the way even that most fleeting of touches had pierced her to the bone.

It occurred to her that if Steve’s kisses had carried even a fraction of the same shattering charge, he’d probably have been a happy man at this very moment, and Paolo would have had to look elsewhere for a partner in his scam.

I really need to get away from here, she told herself, moving restlessly, feeling the fine linen sheet that covered her grazing her skin as if it were raw. And soon.

It could be managed, of course, and quite easily. Paolo could pretend to take her on the visit to Tuscany they’d originally planned. Once they were alone, who would ever know if she slipped away and took an early flight back to London? And as long as Paolo kept a low profile, he could spend his vacation time exactly as he wished.

It wasn’t what she wanted—it saddened her that she wouldn’t see Florence or any of the region’s other proud cities—but it was clear that she could no longer trust Paolo. And it was a way of dealing with a problem that was threatening to snowball into a crisis, entirely through her own stupidity.

Not that she could ever tell Paolo that. This was another truth that would have to be suppressed.

And he never wanted to come here in the first place, she thought. So he can hardly complain if I say I want to leave.

She turned over, burying her face determinedly in the pillow. And if her sleep was haunted by dreams, they did not linger to be remembered in the morning.

The determination, however, persisted, stronger than ever, and Laura sang softly to herself as she showered and dressed in a blue denim skirt and a sleeveless white top.

It was another glorious day, with the sun already burning off the faint haze around the tops of the hills. Probably her last day in Italy, she thought, and she would make the most of every minute.

She and Paolo would sort everything on the trip to Assisi, and by tomorrow they could be out of here, and life could return to normal again.

She would even learn to laugh about the last couple of days. Make a good story out of the Signora. Tell Gaynor, ‘Hey, I met a man who was the ultimate sex on a stick, and fabulously wealthy too.’ Let it all sound like fun, without a moment of self-doubt, she thought as she brushed her hair.

She had taken careful note of the route to the main part of the house the previous night, and found the dining room without difficulty, only to discover that it was deserted with no sign of food.

They eat dinner late, maybe breakfast is the same, she thought, slightly nonplussed. As she was wandering back into the entrance hall she was swooped on by Emilia, who led her firmly into the salotto and indicated that she should go out onto the terrace.

She emerged cautiously and paused in dismay, because Alessio was there alone, seated at the table, which was now covered by a white cloth. A few feet away, in the shade, a large trolley was stationed, and she saw that it held a platter with ham on the bone, together with a dish of cheese, a basket of bread rolls and a bowl of fruit. A pot of coffee was keeping warm on a heater.

‘Buon giorno.’ He had seen her, and, putting down the newspaper he was reading, rose to his feet, depriving her of the chance to retreat back into the villa. ‘You rested well?’

‘Yes—thank you.’ Reluctantly, she took the seat he indicated and unfolded her napkin, glancing at the table. ‘Only two places?’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Where are the others?’

‘They are breakfasting in their rooms,’ Alessio told her. ‘My aunt, because she prefers it. Paolo, because he is too ill to leave his bed,’ he added sardonically.