At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command

But she stumbled and his hand shot out to stop her from falling. For a moment she hovered dangerously close to him, every cell in her body begging her to fall into his arms, and then he was pushing her along impatiently as if he, too, wanted nothing more than to be free and alone.

Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a high-pitched voice she recognised.

‘Lizzie!’ She groaned in dismay.

‘I’ll deal with her. She can stay the night then I’ll put her on the next flight back first thing in the morning.’

‘I should speak to her…’ Miranda chewed her lip guiltily. 0‘I’ll ned to explain—’

‘Leave a note,’ he advised. ‘Let me handle her. If I stuff money into her bag I’m sure she’ll be co-operative. I’ll get Guido to meet her flight in London. He’ll smooth things over.’

Miranda winced at his contempt for Lizzie but knew he was right. And she really couldn’t face her sister. Later she’d invite her over and give her a nice time.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and allowed herself to be led into the library, where she scrawled a hasty note and handed it to Dante.

Her gaze scanned the walls of books, tiers upon tiers of them in carved bookshelves, which stretched right up to the high, carved ceiling. The volumes were nearly all leather-bound and were probably valuable antiques.

It seemed that every detail of the house underlined Dante’s newly acquired wealth and power. Everywhere she looked—the gilded furniture, fine porcelain, the crystal chandeliers, the frescoed ceiling—she discovered further evidence of the Severini heritage. And Carlo would own this one day.

Her job would be to keep him human. Normal. To know more than this world with its rarefied atmosphere. Yes. She had an important role to play. And Dante had better accept that.

She reached the soft cream sofa and her body sank into its welcoming depths with relief. Pulling a handful of silk cushions towards her, she arranged them comfortably behind her aching back and kicked off her shoes.

Without a word, Dante poured her a glass of water from a crystal decanter, handed it to her, then walked quietly away, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. Leaving her in the hushed, muffled silence.

Now she could flop. Every bone in her body felt as if it might crack. Her muscles ached from being held in tension. Limply she raised a hand and lightly massaged her forehead, then held the cold glass against her throbbing temples.

What a dramatic turn her life had taken! It was almost unbelievable. She was to live here, to all intents and purposes the count’s wife. La contessa!

Her eyes closed in dismay. Acting out a charade would be hard enough, but to be isolated in a foreign country…

‘Heaven help me!’ she whispered. ‘Give me strength, for Carlo’s sake!’

She quailed at the daunting prospect. To enable her to cope she would negotiate her own rules with Dante. Invite friends over. Make a life of her own.

Dante would not rule her with an iron fist. Carlo must see at first hand that marriage was a partnership. The last thing she wanted was for her own son to see her as inferior—or for him to grow up with the same attitude to women as his father.

She vowed that Carlo would learn that women were to be treated with respect. That they must be loved for their individuality and not treated as a convenience.

She made a wry face. What was she doing? He was only just three years old! And yet, she thought more soberly, he would undoubtedly pick up his future attitudes from the cradle.

Her teeth snagged at her lip. When Carlo had been spirited away, he’d had a sweet and loving nature. She prayed that he hadn’t suffered any long-term damage and that they could rebuild any feelings of abandonment and insecurity.

Given Dante’s total commitment, they probably could. She would talk to Dante and they’d draw a line under the past two weeks. In Carlo they had a combined interest. They could live a civilised life. They must, for their son’s emotional wellbeing.

Thinking of her son’s small, sunny face, she gave a blissful smile. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she whispered passionately. ‘See you soon, very soon!’ And with her nerves calmed by this reassuring thought, she drifted off to sleep.

It was dark when she woke. A small glow of light from the moon silvered the gleaming marble floor so that it looked like a vast lake.

Immediately she sat up in alarm. Night? The luminous dial on her watch told her it was ten o’clock.

Her entire body froze. She’d slept for four hours. And Dante had not kept his promise to bring Carlo to her! She let out a wail of dismay.

Without stopping to put on her shoes, she ran through the faintly lit room and into the corridor that led to the hall, her hair falling from its pins and flying loose around her frantic face like a silky white curtain.

‘Dante!’ she yelled in fury and panic. ‘Dante!’

There came the sound of a man’s feet, running. The door to a brightly lit room burst open and Dante came hurrying out, frowning deeply.

‘Miranda! Hush! What is it?’ he demanded, coming to a sudden halt a foot away from her.

‘Carlo!’ she jerked brokenly and could say nothing else.

At the mention of his son’s name, his features softened. ‘Asleep. Do you want to see him?’ he asked in an almost gentle tone.

Emotion had claimed her vocal cords. Mutely she nodded, her eyes huge and misty.

‘I thought… I thought…’ she said, sounding strangled.

‘I know,’ he said tightly. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘If you’re playing a trick on me, I’ll make you sorry you were born!’ she muttered.

He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you would.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she demanded fretfully as he led her to the grand staircase.

‘There was no point,’ Dante explained stiffly. ‘After the hours of activity and excitement, he fell asleep in my mother’s car on the way back.’

‘That’s no reason not to wake me! I wouldn’t have cared! Just to see his face…’

The words became choked with disappointment and she had to stop.

‘I did come in to tell you he was home,’ he said quietly. ‘But you looked very peaceful in your sleep. You were—’ he frowned ‘—smiling. And yet you had an air of exhaustion. I did not have the heart to wake you. I’m sorry if it was the wrong decision, but my mother agreed that another night wouldn’t make much difference, and that both of you needed to rest.’

‘Because of my illness,’ Miranda muttered mutinously, sweeping her hair behind her ears.

She trembled a little. It gave her an odd feeling to know that he’d watched her sleeping.

‘I’m sorry about that, I should have warned you about the story I’d invented to cover your absence, but I wasn’t expecting Mama to turn up,’ he explained. ‘When I left England so unexpectedly with Carlo I didn’t know what to tell her—or anyone else for that matter. I couldn’t bring myself to reveal the truth.’ His face darkened. ‘Whatever happened, I didn’t want our child to discover one day how badly you had behaved. So I lied while I worked out what to do for the best.’

‘You didn’t lie to your chauffeur.’ She looked him directly in the eye.

‘How do you know that?’

‘The way he treated me. Without respect.’

‘I will speak to Luca. My chauffeur,’ Dante said quietly.