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

Know him? On the contrary. How could you know a devious, deceitful snake? She would never trust him again. Suddenly, doubts as to his motive for bringing her here filled her head and she came to a halt.

‘Just tell me one thing,’ she said evenly, ‘otherwise I see no reason to go any further. Am I going to see my son soon?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Dante’s eyes flickered. ‘I give you my guarantee that the two of you will be reunited. Please enter. We will talk inside.’

Her breath shuddered out. It seemed that her fears were groundless and all she needed to do was keep her dignity until Dante relented and let her take Carlo into her arms. Only then would she risk giving way to joy. And tears. She could hardly believe it. The nightmare was almost over.

CHAPTER THREE

SUDDENLY she felt unbelievably tired. It was as though all her mental and physical energies had carried her through to this moment. Now she and Carlo were about to be reunited, she could begin to let go.

Exhaustion washed over her as she followed his tall figure through the huge carved doors. If anything, he seemed better-looking than ever. Her resentful eyes noted the perfect curve that his neat black hair made on the rich, dark skin of his neck. The breadth of his shoulders in the crisp Milanese jacket.

And in her mind’s eye she could see his sensational back as if he were naked: the firmness of its triangular shape, the slender hips and tight, neat buttocks. The smooth flesh golden and inviting her touch, muscles moving beneath the well-fitted clothes, the thick cords on either side of his spine proclaiming his athleticism and physical power.

Her heart ached. She could have wept for everything they had lost. Not only those sweet, amazingly fierce explosions of erotic pleasure they’d shared, but also the intimacy, the companionship of the early years together. Even, she sighed, if that had been not real, but a clever deception on his part so that she had suspected nothing while his uncle was alive.

It had been an arranged marriage. The trouble was, she hadn’t known that. Her spirits sank lower.

‘Welcome to my home.’

He turned to her as though he might be inviting her opinion of it. She made a show of looking around as if that was what she’d been doing all along.

The palazzo—for that was what it must surely be—seemed no longer friendly, but daunting in its grandeur. In the cool darkness of the shuttered hall, glass and gold gleamed mysteriously. As they crossed the marble floor, her stilettos tapped with an intrusive echo.

Dante’s ancestors, captured in oils and enclosed in ornate gold frames, checked her out, their dark eyes following her speculatively as she and Dante approached the theatrical double staircase.

Her surroundings had the effect of making her feel uncomfortable. These were riches on a grand scale. Few ambitious men could have remained indifferent when tempted with such luxury, such power, and the prospect of heading a five-hundred-year-old dynasty.

If only she hadn’t been caught in Dante’s honey trap! Guido had explained that his brother knew she had fallen in love with him. Dante had leapt at the chance to marry hastily, before his sick uncle had carried out his threat to leave everything to a more distant, married member of the family.

She winced. The scheming Dante must have waited to hear of his uncle’s death like a vulture hovering over a sick animal. No wonder he’d enquired after Amadeo Severini’s health so often and so earnestly. Her eyes hardened. It must have been very frustrating when Amadeo had hung on to life for nearly four more years!

‘What do you think of the house?’ Dante asked coolly. ‘Does it appeal to your tastes?’

Her frosty gaze slanted chillingly in his direction. ‘I’m sure you don’t care about my opinion.’

‘It interests me to know what you think.’

Haughtily she lifted her chin. She had no intention of bolstering his inflated ego. ‘Too big for one man,’ she said in dismissal.

‘I agree,’ he said to her surprise, pausing as they reached the top of the stairs. ‘That’s why Amadeo didn’t live here and just used it for entertaining.’

‘But you will?’ she hazarded, her eyes narrowing, knowing the answer. He clearly adored his new position. He’d sacrificed a good deal for it.

‘Correct.’

The first doubt slid into her mind. If he thought it was too big for him on his own…surely he wasn’t thinking of keeping Carlo! Her pulses began to quicken with alarm but she hid her apprehension. Whatever game he was playing, he’d see no sign of weakness from her. Perhaps, she consoled herself, he was planning for his mother to join him. And Guido.

‘I was always under the impression that Amadeo’s main residence was the penthouse in Milan,’ she observed icily. ‘You didn’t tell me he owned a palazzo as well.’

And the implicit question was there: why not?

Dante regarded her with unreadable eyes. ‘I had my reasons.’

‘Which were?’ she pushed.

He hesitated and then said in a flat tone, ‘I had hoped that you would be marrying me for the person I was, not for any material benefits I could give you.’

So he’d wanted to be loved! Huh! She felt like hitting him. He’d wanted someone so wrapped up in him that he could remain in control. Someone who didn’t matter to him. What about her? Hadn’t she been entitled to love, too?

‘You were wrong,’ she snapped. Wrong to marry her for convenience. Wrong to use her.

‘So I have discovered,’ he growled.

Grim-faced, he set off again, striding so fast along the broad landing that she had to half-run to keep up.

‘Talking about houses,’ he flung back at her curtly, ‘I might as well tell you that I am selling my place in Knightsbridge. I will live here in future.’

‘Suits me,’ she muttered.

Coming to a halt in front of an enormous pair of double doors flanked by huge Chinese vases, he glanced without pity at her glacial profile.

‘I’m not sure you realise the implications. When the Knightsbridge house is sold, you will have nowhere to live,’ he informed her, clearly imagining she would gasp with horror.

So she did nothing of the kind. She’d manage. Always had. ‘I expected no less from you,’ she assured him loftily and was pleased when he flushed at the insult.

Despite Lizzie’s urging to take Dante to the cleaners, she’d decided to keep her dignity and independence. Apart from a modest maintenance for Carlo, she wouldn’t take a penny from him. She’d rather starve than be beholden to a man who’d treated her so callously.

Dante scowled at her. ‘My lawyers will see that you get nothing from me in a divorce settlement. You can support yourself.’

‘Yes. There’s always whoring,’ she said sarcastically, reminding him of his vile suggestion on the e-mail. She felt some satisfaction when he stiffened, his entire body taut with suppressed fury. Glancing at the door and with her stomach doing somersaults, she asked, ‘Is Carlo in here?’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘It’s my study. Come in.’

Her disappointment was profound. Apparently she was to wait till Carlo woke up. And she could do nothing to hurry him. Out of sheer spite, he’d make her wait. Well, wait she would. As long as it took.

Dante opened the door and with a characteristic, gentlemanly gesture he stood to one side. But his manners were only superficial. No gentleman would have behaved so badly.

Steeling herself to perhaps an hour of hanging around, Miranda stalked into the room—only to catch her breath in wonder.

‘Oh! That’s incredible!’ she whispered in reluctant awe.

Her huge eyes were fixed on the open glass doors on the opposite side of the room, which framed the most wonderful view she’d ever seen in the whole of her life. Drawn to it, unable to resist its invitation, she crossed the Persian-carpeted floor and stepped onto the balcony outside as if in a dream. But when she placed her hands on the wrought-iron rail, she found it was hot to her hands and snatched them away with a small cry.

‘I should have warned you,’ Dante muttered.

Striding rapidly out to join her, he turned her hands over and examined her palms, frowning at the pale pink bar of heat on each one. For a moment she felt dizzy, assailed equally by heavenly perfumes from the garden and the nearness of him—his flawless olive skin, the dark brows and thick black lashes, that peaking mouth she had kissed and tasted and hungered for so many times.