The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

‘Just one drink,’ he said, disapproval making his words harsher than he intended. ‘I have a busy schedule tomorrow and I’ll be leaving first thing.’

‘But you’ve only just arrived!’

‘And I have back-to-back meetings in London, from midday onwards,’ he countered smoothly.

‘Oh! Can’t you cancel them?’ she wheedled. ‘I mean, I’ve heard that you’re a complete workaholic, but surely even powerhouses like you are allowed to slow down a little. And this is a beautiful part of the world. You haven’t really seen any of it.’

With an effort, Salvio forced a smile because he found her attitude intensely intrusive, as well as irritating. ‘I like to honour my commitments,’ he observed coolly as he followed her into the firelit library, where Molly was putting cheese and wine on a table, the stiff set of her shoulders showing her tension. He wasn’t surprised. Imagine being stuck out here, working for someone as rude and demanding as Sarah Avery. He sank into one of the armchairs, and watched as his hostess went to stand by the mantelpiece in a pose he suspected was intended to make him appreciate her carefully preserved body. She ran one slow finger over the gleaming curve of an ancient-looking vase, and smiled.

‘Are you looking forward to Christmas, Salvio?’ she questioned.

He was immediately wary—recoiling from the thought that some unwanted invitation might soon be heading his way. ‘I am away for most of it—in Naples,’ he said, accepting a glass of wine from Molly—ridiculously pleased to capture her blushing gaze before she quickly turned away. ‘I’m always glad to see my family but, to be honest, I’m equally glad when the holiday is over. The world shuts down and business suffers as a result.’

‘Oh, you men!’ Sarah Avery slunk back across the room to perch on a nearby chair, her bony knees clamped tightly together. ‘You’re all the same!’

Salvio managed not to wince, trying to steer the conversation onto a more neutral footing as he sipped his wine, though all he could think about was Molly hovering nervously in the background, the black dress clinging to her curvaceous figure and a stray strand of glossy brown hair dangling alluringly against her pink cheek. He cleared his throat. ‘How are you and your husband planning to spend Christmas?’ he questioned politely.

This was obviously the opportunity Sarah Avery had been waiting for and she let him have the answer in full, telling him how much Philip’s adult children hated her and blamed her for ending their parents’ marriage. ‘I mean, I certainly didn’t set out to get him, but I was his secretary and these things happen.’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Philip told me he couldn’t help falling in love with me. That no power on earth could have stopped it. How was I supposed to know his wife was pregnant at the time?’ She sipped a mouthful of wine, leaving a thin red stain above the line of her lip gloss. ‘I mean, I really don’t care if his wretched kids won’t see me—it’s Philip I’m concerned about—and I really think they need to be mindful of their inheritance. He’ll cut them off if they’re not careful!’

Salvio forced himself to endure several minutes more of her malicious chatter, his old-fashioned sensibilities outraged by her total lack of shame. But eventually he could stand no more and rose to his feet and, despite all her cajoling, she finally seemed to get the message that he was going to bed. Alone. Like a child, she pouted, but he paid her sulky expression no heed. He felt like someone who’d just been released from the cage of a prowling she-cat by the time he escaped to the quietness of the guest corridor and closed the door of his room behind him.

A sigh of relief left his lips as he looked around. A fire had been lit and red and golden lights from the flames were dancing across the walls. He’d been in these grand houses before and often found them unbearably cold, but this high-ceilinged room was deliciously warm. Over by the window was a polished antique cabinet on which stood an array of glittering crystal decanters, filled with liquor which glinted in the moonlight. He studied the walls, which were studded with paintings, including some beautiful landscapes by well-known artists. Salvio’s mouth twisted. It was ironic really. This house contained pictures which would have been given pride of place in a national gallery—yet a trip to the bathroom required a walk along an icy corridor, because the idea of en-suite was still an alien concept to some members of the aristocracy.

He yawned but didn’t go straight to bed, preferring to half pack his small suitcase so he was ready to leave first thing. Outside he could see dark clouds scudding across the sky and partially obscuring the moon, turning the churning ocean silver and black. It was stark and it was beautiful but he was unable to appreciate it because he was restless and didn’t know why.

Loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt, Salvio braved the chilly corridor to the bathroom and was on his way back when he heard a sound from the floor above. A sound which at first he didn’t recognise. He stilled as he listened and there it was again. His eyes narrowed as he realised what it was. A faint gasp for breath, followed by a snuffle.

Someone was crying?

He told himself it was none of his business. He was leaving first thing and it made sense to go straight to bed. But something tugged at his... He frowned. His conscience? Because he knew that the person crying must be the little housekeeper? He didn’t question what made him start walking towards the sound and soon found himself mounting a narrow staircase at the far end of the corridor.

The sound grew louder. Definitely tears. His foot creaked on a step and an anxious voice called out.

‘Who’s there?’

‘It’s me. Salvio.’

He heard footsteps scurrying across the room and as the door was pulled open, there stood Molly. She was still wearing her black uniform although she had taken down her hair and removed her sturdy shoes. It spilled over her shoulders in a glorious tumble which fell almost to her waist and Salvio was reminded of a painting he’d once seen of a woman sitting in a boat, with fear written all over her features. He could see fear now, in soft grey eyes which were rimmed with red. And suddenly all the lust he’d felt from the moment he’d set eyes on her was replaced by a powerful sense of compassion.

‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘Are you hurt?’

‘Nothing’s happened and, no, I’m not hurt.’ Quickly, she blotted her cheeks with her fingertips. ‘Did you want something?’ she asked, a familiar note of duty creeping into her voice. ‘I hope... I mean, is everything in your room to your satisfaction, Signor De Gennaro?’

‘Everything in my room is fine and I thought I told you to call me Salvio,’ he said impatiently. ‘I want to know why you were crying.’

She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t crying.’

‘Yes, you were. You know damned well you were.’

An unexpected streak of defiance made her tilt her chin upwards. ‘Surely I’m allowed to cry in the privacy of my own room.’

‘And surely I’m allowed to ask why, if it’s keeping me awake.’

Her grey eyes widened. ‘Was it?’

He allowed himself the flicker of a smile. ‘Well, no—now you come to mention it. Not really. I hadn’t actually gone to bed but it’s not a sound anyone particularly wants to hear.’

‘That’s because nobody was supposed to. Look, I’m really sorry to have disturbed you, but I’m fine now. See.’ This time she gritted her teeth into a parody of a smile. ‘It won’t happen again.’

But Salvio’s interest was piqued and the fact that she was trying to get rid of him intrigued him. He glanced over her shoulder at her room, which was small. He hadn’t seen a bedroom that small for a long time. A narrow, unfriendly bed and thin drapes at the window, but very little else. Suddenly he became aware of the icy temperature—an observation which was reinforced by the almost imperceptible shiver she gave, despite the thickness of her black dress. He thought about the fire in his own bedroom with the blazing applewood logs which she must have lit herself.

‘You’re cold,’ he observed.

‘Only a bit. I’m used to it. You know what these old houses are like. The heating is terrible up here.’

‘You don’t say?’ He narrowed his eyes speculatively. ‘Look, why don’t you come and sit by my fire for a while? Have a nightcap, perhaps.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘A nightcap?’

He slanted her a mocking smile. ‘You know. The drink traditionally supposed to warm people up.’

He saw her hesitate before shaking her head.

‘Look, it’s very kind of you to offer, but I can’t possibly accept.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because...’ She shrugged. ‘You know why not.’

‘Not unless you tell me, I don’t.’

‘Because Lady Avery would hit the roof if she caught me socialising with one of the guests.’

‘And how’s she going to find out?’ he questioned with soft complicity. ‘I won’t tell if you won’t. Come on, Molly. You’re shivering. What harm will it do?’

Molly hesitated because she was tempted—more tempted than she should have been. Maybe it was because she was feeling so cold—both inside and out. A coldness she’d been unable to shift after the telling off she’d just been given by Lady Avery, who had arrived in the kitchen in an evil temper, shaking with rage as she’d shouted at Molly. She’d told her she was clumsy and incompetent. That she’d never been so ashamed in her life and no wonder Signor De Gennaro had cut short the evening so unexpectedly.

Yet now that same man was standing in the doorway of her humble room, asking her to have a drink with him. He had removed his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, giving him a curiously relaxed and accessible air. It was easy to see why Lady Avery had made a fool of herself over him during dinner. Who wouldn’t fall for his olive-dark skin and gleaming ebony eyes?

Yet despite his sexy appearance, he had looked at her understandingly when she’d messed up during dinner. He’d come to her rescue—and there was that same sense of concern on his face now. He had an unexpected streak of kindness, she thought, and kindness was hard to resist. Especially when you weren’t expecting it. An icy blast of wind rushed in through the gap in the window frame and once again Molly shivered. The days ahead didn’t exactly fill her with joy and her worries about Robbie were never far from the surface. Couldn’t she loosen up for once in her life? Break out of the lonely mould she’d created for herself by having a drink with the Italian tycoon?

She gave a tentative shrug. ‘Okay, then. I will. Just a quick one, mind. And thank you,’ she added, as she slipped her feet back into the sensible brogues she’d just kicked off. ‘Thank you very much.’

He gave a brief nod, as if her agreement was something he’d expected all along, and Molly tried to tell herself that this meant nothing special—at least, not to him. But as he turned his back and began to walk she realised her heart was racing and Molly was filled with an unfamiliar kind of excitement as she followed Salvio De Gennaro along the narrow corridor towards his grand bedroom on the floor below.

CHAPTER THREE (#u7e7d96d3-aa25-5452-8495-3ce2eb6f0313)

‘HERE.’