The Colorado Countess

‘I suppose it does, more or less. Work is a large part of my life.’ And she couldn’t resist adding, whether it offended him or not, ‘No doubt that’s a totally alien concept to you?’

‘Totally.’ Leone took another bite of his peach. ‘I consider my life to be for living.’

Well, she knew what he meant by that! For ‘living’ substitute ‘loving’. In the pursuit of sexual adventures was how Leone Montecrespi spent his time!

She threw him a condescending look. ‘Each to his own, of course. Personally, I prefer a little more substance to my existence.’

‘And who says my life lacks substance? I would say it had substance to spare.’

‘Well, there’s substance and substance, I suppose.’ Carrie shrugged an expressive shrug. ‘As I said before, each to his own.’

‘Each to his own indeed.’ Leone continued to watch her. And though he was smiling there was a dark, probing look in his eyes. ‘Is it really true, then?’ he asked, finishing off his peach and tossing the stone down on the table. ‘Is work the only thing that turns you on?’

Those were not the precise words Carrie herself would have chosen, though she was not at all surprised that he had opted for that wording. It was perfectly clear that he was out to needle her.

She regarded him coolly. ‘I find my work stimulating.’ If he thought he could fluster her, he had another think coming. After three years in New York she didn’t fluster so easily. ‘Most people,’ she added, ‘who have jobs they’re truly involved in would agree, I think, that work gives a lot of satisfaction.’

She didn’t bother to add this time that he no doubt found that an alien concept. It didn’t need saying. They both knew it was true. For though she’d heard he had a job—something to do with Formula One racing cars—it was clearly nothing more than a rich man’s pastime. An undemanding and conveniently part-time pastime that left him plenty of free time for ‘living’.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Leone was enjoying this little skirmish. ‘But a lot of satisfaction is one thing; total satisfaction is quite another. And I’m beginning to suspect that you fall into the latter category.’

‘Are you indeed?’

‘Yes, I am. Am I right?’

Carrie fixed him with a look. Was he asking her about her sex life? Well, she was keeping that to herself—not that there was a great deal to divulge. A couple of mild romances, a few flirtations and not much more. Certainly nothing that would stand comparison with his love life!

She held the deep blue gaze. ‘That’s something you’ll never know.’

‘Top secret, huh?’

‘Just my own private business.’

‘Too bad. I was hoping for some intimate little insight.’

‘Then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.’

‘That’s the worst thing you could do to me.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t bear it when a woman disappoints me.’

Carrie could think of no reply and, really, it was little wonder, for all at once her heart was beating strangely. There was a rapid pulse in her throat and her breathing was fast and shallow. Wrong again, she was thinking. Who said she couldn’t be flustered?

For there’d been an undercurrent in that exchange that had been distinctly sexual and she’d found herself responding with a sudden sense of excitement. But an excitement touched with guilt, for she’d known she shouldn’t be reacting to him like that. Only she’d been unable to stop herself and had had no desire to stop him. As they sat looking at each other now, the air around them seemed to crackle.

Then Leone said, ‘So you’ve come to San Rinaldo looking for satisfaction? Professional satisfaction, I mean, of course.’ The blue eyes flashed. ‘After all, we’ve more or less established that for you that’s the only kind of satisfaction worth pursuing.’

Carrie swallowed hard. How on earth, she was wondering, had the conversation managed to arrive at this loaded point? Though she had a small suspicion that the responsibility was partly hers. For it had somehow grown out of the disapproving noises she’d made regarding his claim that life was for living.

She made a mental note to be more cautious in future. The heir to the throne clearly had no scruples at all about baiting young women who took a disapproving tone with him. Not that that knowledge would actually be of any use to her. She was unlikely ever to meet him again.

Just to think that was a great relief. She straightened her shoulders. And perhaps now she could persuade him to put an end to this meeting.

She looked across at him, though avoiding looking too deeply into his eyes. Those smouldering lapis eyes, she was learning, were dangerous. She smiled a neutral smile. ‘Now that you’ve told me why you came here . . . and now that I’ve had a chance to explain about the other evening. . . it would seem your unfinished business has been completed.’

Well, that was plain enough. As hints went, that one was yacht-sized. Politely, she waited. With any luck he’d make a move now, then she could just give him his money and wave a thankful goodbye.

And he did start to stand up. At least, that was what it looked like. He sat forward in his seat, his hands on the chair arms. ‘You’re right; that particular piece of business has been completed.’

But then, midway, he paused, the smoky blue eyes fixing her. ‘But that wasn’t the only reason I came here,’ he said.

Oh, dear. Carrie stiffened. Had her initial suspicions been right? Was there seduction on the royal mind, after all? She looked into his eyes and felt herself shiver. Now, how was she going to get out of this?

‘Oh?’ she responded, and got ready to defend herself.

Leone was watching her. ‘I promise you you’re going to like this.’

Carrie’s insides twisted. Oh, no, I’m not, she thought.

Then he smiled. ‘I know you’ll like it because it happens to concern your work.’

‘My work?’

‘Yes, your work. I may be able to help you.’

‘Help me?’ She was suspicious. ‘In what way?’ she queried. ‘I really don’t think I need any help.’ She hurried on, assuring him, ‘I’ve already seen Dr Lamberti—he’s the manager at the Castello factory—and we’ve agreed on a programme for doing interviews and photographs, plus all the access I need to the archives. I know enough Italian to decipher most of it, but if I have any problems he’s offered to provide a translator.

‘So, you see,’ she ended, conclusively stamping on his suggestion, ‘I really don’t see how you could possibly help me.’

The very last thing she either needed or wanted was to get tied up with Count Leone!

He had listened without a word and now he shrugged as though in agreement. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need my assistance.’ And, to Carrie’s immense relief, he stood up.

Carrie jumped to her feet too. What joy! He was finally leaving! She couldn’t wait to wave him down the stairs to his car.

But, just as he was about to head for those very same stairs, he paused and turned round to face her again. ‘I take it, then,’ he said with an inquisitorial lift of one eyebrow, ‘that you’re unaware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service?’

Carrie had very nearly gone walking into him when he had turned round so suddenly, and she’d been about to deliver him a fierce scowl as she stepped back. But now she forgot about scowling and blinked at him instead.

‘On the contrary,’ she informed him. ‘I’m very much aware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service.’

Anyone who was even remotely interested in Castello porcelain couldn’t help but know about the fabulous dinner service that had been made to mark the wedding of the first Duke back at the end of the seventeenth century.

She looked at Leone now, wondering what he was getting at. ‘It’s in the Duke’s private collection that’s kept locked up in the Palazzo Verde.’ As she said it she couldn’t disguise the note of longing in her voice, for she had applied to the palace press office for permission to include it in her book and had been greeted with an immediate and categorical refusal.

‘But no one’s allowed to see it, let alone photograph it,’ she added now. For at least there had been that much consolation—that no other member of the public had ever been allowed anywhere near it either.

She kept her eyes fixed on Leone, suddenly curious. ‘Why do you mention it?’ she wanted to know.

‘I just wondered if you’d be interested. . .’

‘Interested? How do you mean, interested?’

‘Interested in including it in this book of yours.’

Carrie’s heart almost stopped. That look in his eyes was the look of someone holding out a bar of candy to a baby. And this was one bar of candy Carrie desperately wanted.

She swallowed and held her breath. ‘But I just told you no one’s allowed to see it. I already tried and they turned me down.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Leone smiled. ‘But you didn’t have me backing you then.’

Carrie was still holding her breath. ‘Meaning?’ she croaked.

‘Meaning that if you had me backing you you might have a different response.’

‘And why should you back me?’

‘Do I need an ulterior motive?’ His smile was pure innocence, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’d simply like to help you,’ he suggested.

Yes, and cats might kiss canaries. She didn’t believe that for a second. But for now his motives were a separate issue. The issue that concerned Carrie now was much more immediate.

She let out her breath and put to him, ‘Do you really mean it? Would you help me?’

‘I might. And if I do there’s a good chance that I’ll succeed. I have a fair amount of influence with my brother.’

‘If you could, that would be wonderful.’ Carrie wasn’t sure she should be saying this. She had the feeling that some silken noose was about to close around her neck. But how could she respond otherwise? He was offering her a prize she’d dreamed of. ‘I’d really be grateful,’ she heard herself add.

‘Would you? That’s nice to know.’ Leone was still standing over her, looking down at her with eyes as tempting as Satan’s. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he added, his blue gaze sweeping over her. ‘A woman’s gratitude, I find, is always a most generous thing. And I’m sure I’ll think of a suitable way for you to express yours when the time comes.’

Carrie was about to step back. Suddenly, danger signs were flashing. And she was tempted to blurt out, Forget it! I’ve changed my mind! She could almost feel the silken strands of the noose biting into her neck already.

But, before she could utter a word, Leone was stepping away from her. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he was saying. ‘Thanks for the peach.’

Then he was turning away and hurrying down the stone steps. And Carrie was still standing there, wondering what on earth she’d let herself in for, when a moment later she heard his car drive away.

Four days passed and there was no further word from him.

He’s forgotten, Carrie decided, or else he was never serious in the first place. All of which was to be expected and was probably for the best anyway. Count Leone, she had decided, was as dangerous as a ticking time bomb.

So it looked as though the only reason he’d come to her house was in order to amuse himself for half an hour. How odd, she thought, when he could have been somewhere more exciting, posing for the paparazzi and making headlines for the papers. Well, perhaps he’d just felt like a quiet interlude. No doubt such were the ways of the idle aristocracy!

It was disappointing, of course, about the Montecrespi dinner service. To have been able to include that in her book would have been a major coup and she’d already been picturing it adorning the front cover! Too bad, she thought philosophically; it had been nice to dream for a while—though it had occurred to her that it might be worth having another go herself at trying to get the Duke’s permission.

If I don’t hear from Leone within the week I’ll contact the palace press office again, she told herself. It was worth a try and she had nothing to lose.

At the same time, if she didn’t hear from him she’d send off the money she owed him—for the other day, to her chagrin, it had completely slipped her mind. She’d get a money order from the bank and send it to the palace.

In the meantime she was being kept busy with her work at the Castello factory. Dr Lamberti, who had given her her own little office there, was proving to be enormously helpful and she had already taken a couple of rolls of photographs. Even without the fabulous dinner service she had the makings of a firstclass book.

But the following day she was in for a small shock.

She got home from the factory to find her landlady waiting for her. ‘This is for you,’ Signora Rossi told her, handing her a letter. ‘It was delivered this afternoon by private messenger.’ She pointed to a finely embossed emblem in the corner and gave Carrie a look of bemused admiration. ‘It looks as though it’s come from the Palazzo Verde.’

Carrie hurried up to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed before tearing the envelope open with curious fingers. Then she pulled out the single sheet of cream-coloured vellum, unfolded it carefully and began to read the message, written in a clear, plain hand.

Dear Carrie,

I’ve spoken to my brother on the subject we discussed. Please come to the palace on Friday evening if you wish to pursue the matter further. If not, phone the number at the top of this letter. If I don’t hear from you I shall send a car to pick you up at eight-thirty.

The letter was signed quite simply, ‘Leone.’

Well, how about that? She felt her heart flip over. The playboy count had kept his promise, after all, and it looked as though she was on the point of achieving her goal to include the fabulous Montecrespi dinner service in her book!

She jumped from the bed and let out a whoop of delight. I’ve done it! she told herself. The scoop of a lifetime!

But through her excitement there was another emotion taking hold of her. A very strong sense of apprehension. For she was remembering what Leone had said about the gratitude of women and how he would think of a suitable way for her to express hers.

Well, he’s misjudged badly this time, Carrie told herself firmly. All he’ll get from me is a polite and heartfelt thank-you—and maybe, if he’s good, a bottle of best brandy!

But in spite of her resolution she couldn’t quite conquer the way she kept feeling that familiar rush inside her every time she thought of seeing him again.

CHAPTER THREE

LEONE pushed aside the plastic curtain and stepped under the shower, feeling the cool, needle-fine jets sharp and refreshing against his back. It had been a hot, exhausting day and he had been looking forward to this.

For most of the past nine hours he’d been at the wheel of the team’s racing car, doing lap after gruelling lap round the sun-scorched race circuit as he carried out rigorous tests on the new gearbox they were working on. But although it had been exhausting he felt satisfied, and as he washed the grime from his body he had a feeling of immense satisfaction at a job well done.

This was how Leone spent most of his days, down at the workshop he shared with his five team mates, either working at the drawing board or in the cockpit of one of their cars. And if he’d been able to have his way he’d have been there every day.

Some days, however, his royal duties as the Duke’s brother made that ambition, sadly, impossible. There would be functions to attend or official visitors to receive and, though he tried to keep these engagements to a minimum, inevitably there were days when they intruded. But he always made a point of making up for the lost hours, coming into the workshop at dawn sometimes, at other times staying on till well after midnight. And he made the sacrifice gladly, for he adored his work.

Partly what he loved about it was the privacy and the informality. Only a very trusted few knew about his secret passion and here at the workshop he was safe from the paparazzi. And to the men with whom he worked he was an engineer, not a count. There was no time-wasting protocol. They all just got on with the job.

He turned his face to the shower and let the water splash over his head and shoulders. He had achieved a lot today—in spite, he thought, smiling, of the somewhat distracting thoughts that had kept jumping into his head, surprising him by their insistence and by the way they made him feel. Somehow, these thoughts had simply given him an extra boost.

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