Roman Spring

“Really?” Enraged beyond endurance, she met his look of controlled anger with one of defiance. “What will you do if I don’t? Torture me? Throw me into a dungeon at the Castello Sforzesco? In case you’d forgotten, this isn’t the Middle Ages. You can’t—”

“No. I cannot.” She gasped as his hand tightened on hers and drew it swiftly behind her back. The sudden motion brought her forward a step, so that all at once they were barely a breath apart. His eyes moved over her face and he smiled tightly. “But then, there are far more effective ways of reminding a woman who is master, signorina.”

His eyes grew dark, as they had been when Caroline had first seen him from the catwalk. He shifted his weight so that his body brushed lightly against hers. She could feel the heat of him, the hardness of muscle that lay hidden beneath the elegant cut of his dinner jacket, and all at once there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, as if the anger that burned between them could, in the flicker of a heartbeat, become something even more primitive...

“Nicolo?”

Their eyes met, and Caroline’s heart began to race. He was going to kiss her, she thought wildly, he was going to bend her back over his arm and put his mouth to her throat, and she—she would close her eyes, she would arch her body to his...

“Nicolo, you have brought her to me! Ah, che bella. I must have fallen asleep—but then, that is the prerogative of an old woman, isn’t it?”

Nicolo Sabatini blinked. He looked at Caroline like a man rising from a deep sleep, and then his face hardened. He took a rasping breath, dropped her hand and turned toward the fireplace. Caroline, heart still pounding with anger and confusion, did the same.

A woman, leaning lightly on an ebony-and-silver cane, was rising slowly from the depths of the high-backed chair that had hidden her from view. She was small, obviously frail, with silvery white hair drawn back from her face and secured in a knot at the nape of her neck. Her skin had the beautiful, paper-thin translucence of great age. But her smile was bright and her eyes—as blue as Nicolo’s—glinted with happiness.

“Nico,” she said, her eyes on Caroline’s face, “I think perhaps you should introduce us.”

Caroline watched as the Prince’s face underwent a metamorphosis. A heartbeat before, he had looked at her with blind passion, then with something that bordered on contempt. Now, as he looked at the old woman, his expression became soft, almost tender.

“Nonna.” He smiled. “I did not mean to disturb you. Were you sleeping?”

“Resting, Nico.” Her smile broadened. “It is a long time since I have had so much excitement.”

“Yes.” He gave Caroline a cool look, as if the old woman’s admission were somehow her fault. “That is true, Nonna.”

The woman smiled at Caroline. “Pay no attention to my grandson, my dear,” she said. “He is angry because I did not keep my promise to go home early. But how could I, without meeting you first?”

Caroline managed a bewildered smile in return. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m afraid I don’t—”

“Nico? Where are your manners? Introduce us.”

“Forgive me, Nonna.” He gave Caroline a quick unpleasant glance. “Caroline Bishop, may I present my grandmother, la Principessa Anna Sabatini?” His mouth twisted. “Nothing would do but that she have the honor of meeting you, signorina despite my best efforts to convince her otherwise.”

The Princess laughed. “Quite right, Signorina Bishop. I sent him into the ballroom, with instructions that he was not to return without you.”

Caroline’s head swiveled toward Nicolo Sabatini. She had been wrong, then. He had not been determined to put her in his debt because he wanted to seduce her. His intentions had been honorable, even if his behavior had left something to be desired.

A pang of conscience sent a light wash of pink into her cheeks. She still didn’t like him. He was too arrogant, too proud, too ready to sit in judgment on her, but—

“Come, Miss Bishop.” Princess Sabatini smiled and patted the chair nearest hers. “Sit here with me, and we shall chat for a while.” Sighing, she sank into her seat. “I spent much time in the States when I was a girl. New York. Wash-ington. Florida...”

The old woman’s voice trailed off. Caroline hesitated, then took a step toward the fireplace, but Nicolo Sabatini swung toward her.

“She will want to talk forever, longer than is good for her,” he said, very softly. “You will not let her.”

“No. Of course not. But I don’t understand why—”

“What an expressive face you have, cara.” He smiled coolly. “Of course you don’t. And it disturbs you to realize that I did not come after you for the reasons you thought, doesn’t it?”

Caroline’s blush deepened. “Your Excellency—”

“I am sorry to have disappointed you. It must be a rare occasion when you meet a man who does not want you in his bed.”

Her face stung as if he’d slapped it, but her eyes held defiantly to his.

“Not as rare as it is for you to meet a woman who wants to be there.”

“Basta!” His hands shot out and caught hold of her shoulders, and in that same instant, his grandmother’s voice called his name.

“Nicolo? Are you still there? Be a good boy and get us something to drink, will you, carino?” The old woman peered around and smiled. “I am sure Miss Bishop and I would both like some champagne.”

Caroline took a deep breath. What she wanted was to slap Nicolo Sabatini’s face, to stalk out of the Sala dell’Arte and never look back.

But the Princess Sabatini was no more responsible for her egotistical grandson than she was for tonight’s overblown charity event. She was merely an old woman who wanted to spend a few minutes in nostalgic memory of long-ago visits to America.

Caroline gave Nicolo a final cold glare as she wrenched free of him.

“Champagne would be lovely,” she said, and she made her way to the Princess’s side.

CHAPTER THREE

TRISH YAWNED as she came padding into the kitchen the next morning. She headed straight for the coffeepot.

“Mmmf,” she said, wincing at the bright sunlight streaming through the window.

Caroline, who was seated at the table trying to make sense of at least the headlines in Osservatore Milano, looked up.

“And a cheery good morning to you, too,” she said mildly.

Trish made a face as she poured herself coffee. “There is no such thing as a good morning,” she grumped, burying her face in the fragrant steam rising from the cup. She took several gulping swallows before finally lifting her head. “Not until after I’ve had my first sip of coffee,” she said. “You should know that by now.”

Caroline grinned. “I do—but it doesn’t keep me from hoping that some morning you’ll come bouncing into the kitchen with a smile on your face—”

“And a song in my heart.” Trish shuddered as she collapsed onto the chair opposite Caroline’s. “Not unless you believe in miracles, I won’t.” She sipped at her coffee again, then put down the cup and propped her head on her hand. “Well?”

Caroline looked up from the paper again. “Well, what?”

“What do you mean, ‘Well, what?’ You know what I’m asking. What’s happening?”

Caroline searched the other girl’s face and saw the question there. A faint wash of color rose under her skin as she rose from the table and walked to the counter.

“The usual,” Caroline said, deliberately choosing to misunderstand the question. “Suzie and Giulia haven’t showed up yet.”

“It’s only 8:00 a.m.” Trish made a face. “They’re probably still partying. I meant, what’s happening with you?”

“With me?” Caroline hesitated. “Well, I don’t have anything scheduled until this afternoon, so I thought I’d try getting in to see Signor Silvio and see if I can pry my money free of his sticky grasp.” She filled her cup with fresh coffee. “Honestly, how they get away with such stuff—it’s bad enough they take a large commission, but to sit on the money as long as they do...”

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it.”

Caroline turned slowly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”

“Come on, this is me, remember? I was at that party last night, the same as you.”

“So?”

“So,” Trish said patiently, “we left the Sala dell’Arte together, we bought gelati and gained a billion calories eating it, we came home, scrubbed the goo off our faces and plopped into our beds—and in all that time, you never said a word worth hearing.”

Caroline frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You know what it means. Everyone saw that gorgeous prince carry you off—”

“Oh, come on!”

“Well, he did! He saved you from the clutches of the greasy little man by carrying you off to that back room—”

“It was an anteroom.”

“—and closing the door. And—”

“It didn’t even have a door! Dammit, Trish—”

“And you didn’t come out again for an hour,” the other girl said triumphantly. “And when you did, you didn’t say a word about what had happened in there to anybody!”

Caroline’s brows lifted. “Nobody asked,” she said wryly.

“Well, I’m asking now. You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.”

“All right,” she said, after a moment. Her eyes met Trish’s. “I had a chat with the Prince’s grandmother.”

The other girl stared. “You did what with who?”

Caroline grinned. “I met his grandmother, the Princess Sabatini.” She took a sip of coffee. “And we talked for a while.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Want some more coffee?”

“What did you talk about?” Trish demanded, her expression a mixture of bemusement and incredulity.

“This and that. The States, what I’ve managed to see of Italy... Actually, I think I reminded her of someone. She kept saying I look like Adrianna. Or Arianna.” Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. It was pleasant—and it was harmless. In fact, it was fun.”

“Fun,” the other girl echoed.

“Yeah. She sort of reminded me of my own grandmother, back in Vermont.” Caroline smiled slightly. “It was nice. Really. She’s a sweet old lady.”

Trish leaned back in her chair and grinned. “Well, that’s a novel way to get to a man’s heart. Some girls show a guy they’re terrific cooks—and my roommate shows him she can make friends with his granny! Interesting approach, kid. Did it work?”

Caroline grimaced. “What do you mean, did it work? I told you, it had nothing to do with Nicolo Sabatini. Once he’d introduced me to the Princess, he never said another word.” She looked at Trish across the rim of her cup. “As for finding his heart—the only way I’d want to do that is with an ice pick.”

Her roommate giggled. “I take it you weren’t swept off your feet by the guy.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Still, he was interested in you. Come on, come on, don’t try and deny it. Giulia told me he was looking at you the way a starving man looks at a plate of pasta.”

“An apt description if I ever heard one. Trust me, Trish. You’ve met the type before. He sees women as a movable feast—and himself as first in line at the table.”

Trish nodded. “He made a pass, huh?”

Caroline remembered that moment when she had thought Nicolo was going to take her in his arms. She remembered the heat in his eyes, the promise...

“Right?”

Shrugging, she turned away from Trish’s bright look of inquiry. “More or less.”

“And you, being you, set him straight.” Trish grinned. “I wish I’d been there to hear it. What’d you say? ‘Prince, I’m not interested?’”

“You don’t address him that way.”

“What way?”

“You don’t call him ‘Prince.’”

“No?”

“No.” The girls’ eyes met. “Now that I think about it, back home Prince is either the name of a rock singer—or a dog,” Caroline said slowly. “You know—’here, Prince. Stay, Prince. Sit, Prince.’”

“‘Down, Prince,’” Trish added helpfully.

They smiled, giggled, and all at once they were whooping with laughter. Caroline collapsed into a chair.

“Thank you,” she gasped.

“For what?” Trish said, holding her sides.

For putting last night into perspective, Caroline thought. But she didn’t say that. Instead, she smiled.

“For putting me in the right frame of mind for facing that rat Silvio. After all, asking him why my pay’s late is always good for a laugh.”

* * *

IT WAS ALWAYS difficult—sometimes impossible—to get an appointment with the head of the agency’s Milan office, or, at least, it was like that if you were one of the agency’s models. Silvio’s receptionist was always terribly sorry, but il signore was busy.

But not today. To Caroline’s surprise, the woman actually sounded pleased to hear her name.

“Signorina Bishop,” she said, “I was about to call you. Signor Silvio wishes to see you.”

Caroline stared at the telephone in her hand. “He does?”

“He has a job he wishes to discuss with you. Will ten o’clock be convenient?”

Caroline said that it would, then hung up. Silvio never discussed jobs, he simply assigned them. Her pulse gave a thud. She’d heard of an opening for a showroom model at one of the better fashion houses on the Via Montenapoleone; despite the agency’s insistence on scouting all jobs itself, she had gone around to the house and applied for the position herself, listing International Models as representing her. Could it be...?

It was too much to hope for. Still, as she made her way up the narrow staircase to the agency office at five minutes to ten, it was hard to contain her excitement. Modeling at Adorno’s would be steady work; it would pay well and, even after the agency took its cut, she’d have money left over. And the designers at Adorno’s had an eye for fashion. There’d be so much to learn about fabric, about draping...

The receptionist looked up as Caroline pushed the door open.

“Ah, Signorina Bishop. You are right on time.”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. Is Signor Silvio—”

“He is waiting for you.” The woman leaned across her typewriter and flashed a smile so chummy it was almost a grin. “There is nothing like an excellent opportunity to make a girl prompt, eh, signorina?”

An excellent opportunity. Caroline’s heart thudded again. She was right, then. Adorno’s had telephoned the agency. They wanted her. Oh, Lord, they wanted—

One of the doors swung open and Silvio emerged, both hands held out to her, his round face beaming.

“My dear,” he said. “Please, do not stand outside. Come in, come in, and sit down.”

Caroline fought back the urge to glance over her shoulder and make certain he was really talking to her. She smiled hesitantly, ignored the outstretched hands, and stepped into Silvio’s office. It was sparsely furnished and grimy. A smudged window overlooked an alleyway. To the right, a partially opened door led to a connecting office.

He motioned her to a chair opposite his desk.

“Would you care for some coffee? No? Tea, then.” He gave a forced laugh. “I never remember which it is you American girls prefer, my dear, coffee or tea—or is it chocolate? I am certain my girl can—”

“No,” Caroline said quickly, “thank you, signore, but I don’t want anything.” She swallowed. “I just—I’d like to talk about this job offer.”

Silvio’s smile seemed to slip a notch. “Of course. I simply thought you might wish to make yourself comfortable before we did.”

“I appreciate that.” She drew her breath. “But—but I’m just so delighted about it, that—”

“You know of it, then?”

“Well, yes. Sure.” Caroline hesitated. “It was my idea, after all.”

His eyes widened. “Yours?”

She nodded. “Yes. I know we’re not supposed to solicit jobs for ourselves, but—”

Silvio laughed a shade too heartily. “No, no, that’s fine.” He leaned forward. “But must we use that word, solicit? Such a nasty word, don’t you think? As for worrying about my displeasure...” He spread his hands. “If our girls are enterprising enough to find unique positions for themselves, who are we to object?”

She nodded again, all thought of her overdue money forgotten in her excitement. “I hoped you’d see it that way, signore. When do I start?”

Grinning, he tilted his chair back on its legs and folded his hands across his ample paunch.

“I must say, Signorina Bishop, your—enthusiasm—surprises me. You are not known for having such a cooperative spirit.”

“I think I’ve been very cooperative,” Caroline said quickly. “No designer has ever complained about me.”

“Well, not the designers, no.” He gave an expressive shrug. “But some of the clients...”

Last night. That damned buyer with honey on his voice and whoring in his heart...Caroline shifted in her chair.

“If you’re referring to what happened at the Sala dell’Arte,” she said, “I’m sorry. I never intended to make a scene, but—”

“You need not explain, signorina.” Silvio’s chair hit the floor with a thud as he leaned forward again. “It has all worked out for the best, yes? The gentleman was most pleased. He has made an excellent offer to us, and—”

Caroline blinked. “I thought it was a woman who ran the House of Adorno.”

“Adorno? What has Adorno to do with this arrangement?”

“Why—why that’s the job, the one I went after.” She stared at his blank face. “Isn’t that what we’re discussing?”

Silvio threw a quick glance at the connecting door. “We are discussing the offer made us this morning by His Highness, the Prince. He has agreed to—”

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. “The Prince? Do you mean—Nicolo Sabatini?”

“Exactly. He had agreed to pay us more than our usual commission—well, I explained, of course, that we would need ample compensation to lend him one of our girls for such unusual services, and I must say—”

“Services?” Caroline leaped to her feet. “Services? Are you insane?” She slammed her hands on the desk and papers flew in every direction. “I don’t perform ‘services'!”

“Signorina, please. You must calm yourself.” Silvio looked at the door again. “I only meant—”

“I know exactly what you meant, you pig!” Her voice shook with rage. “You and that—that slimy Prince, that—that—that—”

“Slimy?”

Caroline spun toward the connecting door. Nicolo Sabatini, dressed in a navy pinstriped suit, white shirt and crimson silk tie, smiled at her.

“I am disappointed, Miss Bishop. I have seen enough American films to have expected something more colorful than that.”

“Yeah? Well, stick around, Prince,” she said, her tone making it clear that her deliberate misuse of the title was meant to insult him. “Give me a minute and I’ll come up with something that will turn your face the same color as your tie!”

Silvio rose to his feet. “Your Highness—”

“Get out, Silvio.”

“Excellency, I was just about to explain the details of your proposition to the signorina—”

“With all the subtlety at your command, no doubt.” Nicolo jerked his head toward the door that led out to the reception area. “You’ve done enough,” he said sharply. “Now, get out!”

Silvio’s chair scraped as he shoved it back. He rounded the desk quickly, made an apologetic bow of his head to Nicolo, frowned at Caroline, and scurried to the door. It opened, then swung shut.

Nicolo blew out his breath. “So much for leaving things to those who are the least capable,” he said. He walked slowly toward the desk. “Please, Miss Bishop, won’t you be seated?”

“No.” Caroline tossed her head. “There’s no point. If you think your—your wonderful offer is going to sound any better coming from you than from that—that pig—”

“He is not a pig at all.”

“No? Well, I suppose not, considering your part in this sleazy little scheme. But—”

“He is another animal entirely.” Nicolo scowled, leaned back against the desk, and crossed his arms over his chest. “The man is an ass.”

“I’m telling you, he’s—he’s...” She stared at him. “An ass?”

“Exactly so. And you, Miss Bishop, are a fool.”

Caroline’s brows lifted. “I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t I make myself clear last night? Then let me do so this morning. I am not interested in buying your services.”

“Oh, please! I’ve just sat through the most incredible proposition, and now you expect me to believe—”

“A business proposition. I do not buy my women,” Nicolo said coldly.

“No?” Her smile was thin. “What do you do, then? Shower them with expensive gifts to keep the lie alive? Is that what Silvio was going to explain to me next, that you’d agreed to pay the agency a commission but that you were going to give me—what? Jewels? A diamond ring? A fur coat? After you’d enjoyed my services, of course.”

A cool smile curved across his lips. “I see you put a high value on yourself, Miss Bishop.”

Caroline’s head came up. “Believe me,” she said quietly, “you could never afford me, Your Highness.”

The smile came again, quicker and somehow more knowing than last time.

“I would not have to,” he said softly.

“Listen here—”

“Because, if I wanted you, you would come to my bed eagerly, carina.”

“That’s it,” she said, flushing with anger. She turned away. “Don’t think it hasn’t been interesting.”

He stepped away from the desk and moved toward her. His hands closed on her shoulders.

“Let me go,” she said.

“Why do you deny it?” A muscle moved in his cheek. “What is between us is—”

She twisted angrily against his grasp. “Is intense dislike!”

Nicolo laughed softly. “I agree.” His hands slid up her throat and cupped her face. “But what has that to do with desire?”

“My God, how you flatter yourself! I don’t desire you, Prince Sabatini. In fact—”

His fingers brushed lightly across her lips, tracing a path of flame that she felt even in the midst of her anger.

“I have heard that you play this game,” he said softly.

“It’s not a game, damn you! If you don’t stop this—”

“On the contrary. And it is most effective. It gives a man the feeling that you must be won.” He smiled as his thumbs skimmed lightly across her cheekbones. “Or taken. It cannot be a simple illusion for you to maintain, when you know you’ve given yourself many times before.”

Caroline caught his wrists. “You bastard! What gives you the right to talk to me this way? Is it because I’ve hurt that insufferable ego of yours? Was I supposed to fall in a heap when the great Prince Nicolo Sabatini made a pass at me?”

A deep furrow appeared between his dark brows. “You delude yourself, Caroline. I made no pass.”

“Liar!”

His nostrils flared. “I don’t lie. Ever.”

“Well, you’re lying now.”

His hands fell away from her. “If you were a man,” he said furiously, “I would—”

“Yes. That’s the trouble, isn’t it?” She showed her teeth in a taunting smile. “I’m not a man, and you can’t deal with the fact that I’m just not interested.”

“The only reason I so much as spoke to you last night,” he said through his teeth, “was because of my grandmother.”

“Really? Well, where’s your grandmother today? Or are you going to tell me you made Silvio this—this proposition on her behalf, too?”

“Yes. I did.” His voice changed; she could hear the sudden edge to it, the tone of imperious command. “La Principessa wants to see you.”

“My God, that’s pathetic! You’re hiding behind an old woman who’s not here to defend herself!”

“It is, unfortunately, the truth. I would prefer it otherwise, but she has asked for you.”

Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that’s nice. But I’m afraid you’ll have to tell her that the days when Rome ruled the world are over. I’m busy.”

Nicolo’s nostrils flared with distaste. “I am sure that you are. But her wish is important to me. I have promised to bring you to her.”

“How unfortunate for you.” She turned and started for the door. “Look, tell her that you tried, okay? Tell her you did your best, but—”