In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Now I really do feel sorry for her.’ And was gone.

Alone, Alessio went to a side table, and poured himself a whisky. He rarely drank in the daytime, but this was like no other day since the beginning of the world.

What the devil was Paolo thinking of—bringing his little ra-gazza within a hundred miles of his mother? If he gave a damn about her, he would keep them well apart.

And if I had an atom of decency, Alessio thought grimly, I would call him, and say so.

But he couldn’t risk it. Zia Lucrezia had more than her full share of the Ramontella ruthlessness, as he should have remembered, and would not hesitate to carry out her veiled threat about his ill-advised interlude with Vittoria. And the fall-out would, as she’d predicted, be both unpleasant and spectacular.

Laura, he repeated to himself meditatively. Well, at least she had a charming name. If she had a body to match, then his task might not seem so impossible.

He raised his glass. ‘Salute, Laura,’ he said with cynical emphasis. ‘E buona fortuna.’ He added softly, ‘I think you will need it.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WELL, it all sounds iffy to me,’ said Gaynor. ‘Think about it. You’ve cancelled your South of France holiday with Steve because you didn’t like the sleeping arrangements, yet now you’re off to Italy with someone you hardly know. It doesn’t make any sense.’

Laura sighed. ‘Not when you put it like that, certainly. But it truly isn’t what you think. I’m getting a free trip to Tuscany for two weeks, plus a cash bonus, and all I have to do is look as if I’m madly in love.’

‘It can’t be that simple,’ Gaynor said darkly. ‘Nothing ever is. I mean, have you ever been madly in love? You certainly weren’t with Steve or you wouldn’t have quibbled about sharing a room with him,’ she added candidly.

Laura flushed. ‘I suppose I thought I was—or that I might be, given time. After all, we’ve only been seeing each other for two months. Hardly a basis for that kind of commitment.’

‘Well, not everyone would agree with you there,’ Gaynor said drily.

‘I know.’ Laura paused in her packing to sigh again. ‘I’m a freak—a throwback. I admit it. But if and when I have sex with a man, I want it to be based on love and respect, and a shared future. Not because double rooms are cheaper than singles.’

‘And what kind of room is this Paolo Vicente offering?’

‘All very respectable,’ Laura assured her, tucking her only swimsuit into a corner of her case. ‘We’ll be staying with his mother at her country house, and she’s a total dragon, it seems. Paolo says she’ll probably lock me in at night.’

‘And she has no idea that you’re practically strangers?’

‘No, that’s the whole point. She’s pushing him hard to get engaged to a girl he’s known all his life, and he won’t. He says she’s more like his younger sister than a future wife, and that I’m going to be his declaration of independence. A way of telling his mother that he’s his own man, and quite capable of picking a bride for himself.’

‘Isn’t that like showing a red rag to a bull? Do you want to be caught in the middle of two warring factions?’

‘I won’t be. Paolo says, at worst, she’ll treat me with icy politeness. And he’s promised I won’t see that much of her—that he’ll take me out and about as much as possible.’ Laura paused. ‘It could even be fun,’ she added doubtfully.

‘Ever the optimist,’ muttered Gaynor. ‘How the hell did you ever become part of this gruesome twosome?’

Laura sighed again. ‘He works for the Arleschi Bank. We pitched for their PR work a few weeks ago, and Carl took me along to the presentation. Paolo was there. Then, a fortnight ago, he came into the wine bar, and we recognised each other.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’d just split with Steve, so I was feeling down, and Paolo was clearly fed up too. He stayed on after closing time, and we had a drink together, and started talking.

‘He wanted to know why I was moonlighting in a wine bar when I was working for Harman Grace, so I told him about Mum being a widow, and Toby winning that scholarship to public school, but always needing extra stuff for school, plus this field trip in October.

‘Then Paolo got very bitter about his mother, and the way she was trying to tie him down with this Beatrice. And, somehow, over a few glasses of wine, the whole scheme evolved.’

She shook her head. ‘At first, I thought it was just the wine talking, but when he came back the following night to hammer out the details I discovered he was deadly serious. I also realised that the extra cash he was offering would pay for Toby’s field trip, and compensate Steve for the extra hotel charges he’s been emailing me about incessantly.’

‘Charming,’ said Gaynor.

Laura pulled a face. ‘Well, I did let him down over the holiday, so I suppose he’s entitled to feel sore.

‘However, when push came to shove, I honestly couldn’t afford to turn Paolo down.’ She sounded faintly dispirited, then rallied. ‘And, anyway, I’ve always wanted to go to Italy. Also it may be my last chance of a proper holiday, before I seriously start saving towards the Flat Fund.’

‘I’ve already begun.’ Gaynor gave a disparaging glance around the cramped bedsit, a mirror-image of her own across the landing. ‘There’s an ugly rumour that Ma Hughes is all set to raise the rents again. If we don’t find our own place soon, we won’t be able to afford to move out. And Rachel from work is definitely interested in joining us,’ she added buoyantly. ‘Apparently, living at home is driving her crazy.’

She got up from the bed, collecting up their used coffee-cups. On her way to the communal kitchenette, she paused at the door. ‘Honey, you are sure you can trust this Paolo? He won’t suddenly develop wandering hands when you’re on your own with him?’

Laura laughed. ‘I’m sure he won’t. He likes voluptuous brunettes, so I’m really not his type, and he certainly isn’t mine,’ she added decisively. ‘Although I admit he’s good-looking. Besides, I have his mother as chaperon, don’t forget. And he tells me she strongly disapproves of open displays of affection, so all I really have to do is flutter my eyelashes occasionally.’

Laura gave a brisk nod. ‘No, this is basically a business arrangement, and that’s fine with me.’

Her smile widened. ‘And I get to see Tuscany at last. Who could ask for more?’

But as the plane began its descent towards Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci Airport she did not feel quite so euphoric about the situation, although she could not have fully explained why.

She had met up with Paolo the previous night to talk over final details for the trip.

‘If we’re dating each other, then you need to know something about me, cara, and my family,’ he explained with perfect reason.

She’d already gathered that he occupied a fairly junior position at the bank’s London branch. What she hadn’t expected to hear was that he was related to the Italian aristocrat who was the Arleschi chairman.

‘We are the poor side of the family,’ he explained. He was smiling, but there was a touch of something like peevishness in his voice. ‘Which is why my mother is so eager for me to marry Beatrice, of course. Her father is a very wealthy man, and she is his only child.’

‘Of course,’ Laura echoed. Who are these people? she wondered in frank amazement. And just what planet do they inhabit?

She thought of her mother struggling to make ends meet. Of herself, spending long evenings in the wine bar so that she could help towards her shy, clever brother having the marvellous education he deserved.

When Paolo used the term ‘poor’ so airily, he had no idea what it really meant.

Her throat tightened. She’d treated herself to some new clothes for the abortive French holiday, but they were all chain-store bought, with not a designer label among them.

She was going to stick out like the proverbial sore thumb in this exclusive little world she was about to join, however briefly. So, could she really make anyone believe that she and Paolo were seriously involved?

But perhaps this was precisely why he had chosen her, she thought unhappily. Because she was so screamingly unsuitable. Maybe this would provide exactly the leverage Paolo needed to escape from this enforced marriage.

‘Anyone,’ his mother might say, throwing up her hands in horrified surrender. ‘Anyone but her!’

Well, she could live with that, because Paolo, in spite of his smoothly handsome looks and august connections, held no appeal for her. In fact, Laura decided critically, she wouldn’t have him if he came served on toast with a garnish.

He was arrogant, she thought, and altogether too pleased with himself, and, although no one should be forced to marry someone they didn’t love, on balance her sympathies lay with his would-be fiancée.

‘I must insist on one thing,’ she said. ‘No mention of Harman Grace.’

‘As you wish.’ He shrugged. ‘But why? They are a good company. You have nothing to be ashamed of by working for them.’

‘I know that. But we’re now the bank’s official PR company in London. Your cousin must know that, and he’ll recognise the name if it’s mentioned. He may not appreciate the fact that you’re supposedly dating someone who’s almost an employee.’

‘Don’t disturb yourself, cara. I am nothing more than an employee myself. Besides, the chances of your meeting my cousin Alessio are slim. But Harman Grace shall remain a secret between us, if that’s what you want.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I really do. Thank you.’

She was astonished to find that they were flying first class, proving that poverty was only relative, she thought grimly, declining the champagne she was automatically offered.

A couple of glasses of wine had got her into this mess. So, from now on she intended to keep a cool head.

She was also faintly disconcerted by Paolo’s attempts to flirt with her. He kept bending towards her, his voice low and almost intimate as he spoke. And she didn’t like his persistent touching either—her hair, her shoulder, the sleeve of her linen jacket.

Oh, God, she thought uneasily. Don’t tell me Gaynor was right about him all along.

She was aware, with embarrassment, that the cabin staff were watching them, exchanging knowing looks.

‘What are you doing?’ she muttered, pulling her hand away as he tried to kiss each of her fingers.

He shrugged, not in the least discomposed. ‘For every performance, there must be a rehearsal, no?’

‘Definitely no,’ Laura said tartly.

She was also disappointed to hear there’d been a slight change of plan. That instead of hiring a car at the airport and driving straight to Tuscany, they were first to join the Signora Vicente at her Rome apartment.

‘But for how long?’ she queried.

Paolo was unconcerned. ‘Does it matter? It will give you a chance to see my city before we bury ourselves in the countryside,’ he told her. He gave a satisfied smile. ‘Also, my mother employs a driver and a car for her journeys, so we shall travel in comfort.’

Laura felt she had no option but to force a smile of agreement. It’s his trip, she thought resignedly. I’m just the hired help.

The Signora’s residence was in the Aventine district, which Paolo told her was one of the city’s more peaceful locations with many gardens and trees.

She occupied the first floor of a grand mansion, standing in its own grounds, and Laura took a deep, calming breath as they mounted the wide flight of marble stairs.

You’ve got your passport in your bag, she reminded herself silently. Also, your return ticket. All you have to do, if you really can’t hack this, is turn and run.

When they reached the imposing double doors, Paolo rang the bell, and Laura swallowed as he took her hand in his with a reassuring nod.

It’s only a couple of weeks, she thought. Not the rest of my life.

The door was opened by a plump elderly maid, who beamed at Paolo, ignoring Laura completely, then burst into a flood of incomprehensible Italian.

Laura found herself in a windowless hall, its only illumination coming from a central chandelier apparently equipped with low-wattage bulbs. The floor was tiled in dark marble, and a few pieces of heavy antique furniture and some oil paintings in ornate frames did little to lighten the atmosphere.

Then the maid flung open the door to the salotto, and sunlight struggled out, accompanied by a small hairy dog, yapping furiously and snarling round their ankles.

‘Quiet, Caio,’ Paolo ordered, and the dog backed off, although it continued its high-pitched barking, and growling. Laura liked dogs, and usually got on with them, but something told her that Caio was more likely to take a chunk out of her ankle than respond to any overtures she might make.

Paolo led her into the room. ‘Call off your hound, Mamma,’ he said. ‘Or my Laura will think she is not welcome.’

‘But I am always ready to receive your friends, figlio mio.’ The Signora rose from a brocaded sofa, and offered her hand.

She was a tall woman, Laura saw, and had been handsome once rather than a beauty. But time had thinned her face and narrowed her mouth, and this, together with her piercing dark eyes, made her formidable. She wore black, and there were pearls round her neck, and in her ears.

‘Signorina Mason, is it not so?’ Her smile was vinegary as she absorbed Laura’s shy response. ‘You would like some tea, I think. Is that not the English habit?’

Laura lifted her chin. ‘Now that I’m here, signora, perhaps I should learn a few Italian customs instead.’

The elegantly plucked brows lifted. ‘You will hardly be here long enough to make it worthwhile, signorina—but as you wish.’ She rang a bell for the maid, ordered coffee and cakes, then beckoned Paolo to join her on the sofa.

This, thought Laura, taking the seat opposite that she’d been waved towards, is going to be uphill all the way. And she was still inwardly flinching from ‘my Laura’.

It was a beautiful room, high-ceilinged and well proportioned, but massively over-furnished for her taste. There were too many groups of hard-looking chairs, she thought, taking a covert glance around. And far too many spindly-legged tables crowded with knick-knacks. The windows were huge, and she longed to drag open the tall shutters that half-masked them and let in some proper light. But she supposed that would fade the draperies, and the expensive rugs on the parquet floor.

‘I have some news for you, mio caro,’ the Signora announced, after the maid had served coffee and some tiny, but frantically rich chocolate cakes. ‘And also for the signorina, your companion. I regret that I cannot after all entertain you at my country home. It is occupied by workmen—so tedious, but unavoidable.’

Laura froze, her cup halfway to her lips. Were they going to spend the whole two weeks in this apartment? Oh, God, she thought, surely not. It might seem spacious enough, but she suspected that even a few days with the Signora would make it seem totally claustrophobic.

Paolo was looking less than pleased. ‘But you knew we were coming, Mamma. And I promised Laura that she should see Tuscany.’

‘Another time, perhaps,’ the Signora said smoothly. ‘This time she will have to be content with a corner of Umbria.’ Her expression was bland. ‘Your cousin Alessio has offered us the use of the Villa Diana at Besavoro.’

There was an astonished pause, then Paolo said slowly, ‘Why should he do that?’

‘Mio caro.’ The Signora’s voice held a hint of reproof. ‘We are members of his family. His only living relatives.’

Paolo shrugged. ‘Even so, it is not like him to be so obliging,’ he countered. ‘And, anyway, Besavoro is at the end of the world.’ He spread his hands. ‘Also, the Villa Diana is halfway up a mountain on the way to nowhere. It is hardly an adequate substitute.’

‘I think Signorina Mason will find it charming.’ Again the smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘And not overrun by her own countrymen.’ She turned to Laura. ‘I understand that Tuscany has come to be known as Chiantishire. So amusing.’

‘Has it?’ Laura enquired with wooden untruthfulness. ‘I didn’t know.’ Dear God, she thought. I’m going to be staying at a house owned by the chairman of the Arleschi Bank. This can’t be happening.

‘And Umbria is very beautiful,’ the Signora continued. ‘They call it the green heart of Italy, and there are many places to visit—Assisi—Perugia—San Sepulcro, the birthplace of the great Rafael. You will be spoiled for choice, signorina.’

Paolo cast a glance at the decorated ceiling. ‘You call it a choice, Mamma?’ he demanded. ‘To risk our lives up and down that deathtrap of a road every time we want to go anywhere?’

He shook his head. ‘If anything happens to my cousin Alessio, and I inherit, then the Villa Diana will be for sale the next day.’

There was another lengthier pause. Then: ‘You must forgive my son, signorina,’ the Signora said silkily. ‘In the heat of the moment, he does not always speak with wisdom. And, even if it is a little remote, the house is charming.’

‘And Alessio?’ Paolo demanded petulantly, clearly resenting the rebuke. ‘At least he can’t mean to use the house himself, if we are there. Or he never has in the past.’ He snorted. ‘Probably off chasing some skirt.’

‘Dear boy, the offer was made, and I was glad to accept. I did not enquire into his own plans.’

Laura had been listening with a kind of horrified fascination. She thought, I should not be hearing this.

Aloud, she said quietly, ‘Paolo—isn’t there somewhere else we could stay? A hotel, perhaps.’

‘In the height of the tourist season?’ Paolo returned derisively. ‘We would be fortunate to find a cellar. No, it will have to be my cousin’s villa. And at least it will be cooler in the hills,’ he added moodily. ‘When do we leave?’

‘I thought tomorrow,’ said the Signora. She rose. ‘You must be tired after the flight, Signorina Mason. I shall ask Maria to show you your room so that you may rest a little.’

And so you can give your son your unvarnished opinion of his latest acquisition, thought Laura. But then this was only what she’d been led to expect, she reminded herself. She supposed she should be grateful that the Signora hadn’t made a hysterical scene and ordered her out of the apartment.

The bedroom allocated to her was on the small side, and the bed was narrow, and not particularly comfortable. She had been shown the bathroom—a daunting affair in marble the colour of rare beef, but she was glad to find that the still-unsmiling Maria had supplied a jug of hot water and a matching basin for the washstand in her room.

She took off her shoes and dress, and had a refreshing wash. The soap was scented with lavender, and she thought with faint self-derision that it was the first friendly thing she’d discovered so far in Rome.

She dried herself with the rather harsh linen towel, then stretched out on top of the bed with a sigh.

The regrets she’d experienced on the plane were multiplying with every moment that passed. Back in London, Paolo had persuaded her that it would be easy. A spot of acting performed against a backdrop of some of Europe’s most beautiful scenery. Almost a game, he’d argued. And she’d be paid for it.

Well, she was fast coming to the conclusion that no amount of cash was worth the hassle that the next two weeks seemed to promise. Although most of her concerns about Paolo’s future behaviour were largely laid to rest. The Signora, she thought with wry amusement, would prove a more than adequate chaperon. And if she had been in love with him, she’d have been faced with a frustrating time.

Her head was beginning to ache, and she reached down to her bag by the side of the bed for the small pack of painkillers she’d included at the last minute, and the bottle of mineral water she’d bought at the airport. It was lukewarm now, but better than nothing, she thought as she swallowed a couple of the tablets, then turned onto her side, resolutely closing her eyes.

The deed was done. She was in Italy, even if it wasn’t turning out to be a dream come true.

Whatever, she thought wearily. There was no turning back now.

Dinner that night was not an easy occasion. Paolo had announced plans to take Laura out for a meal, but the Signora had pointed out with steely insistence that this would be unwise, as they would be making an early start in the morning to avoid travelling in the full heat of the day.

So they ate in the formal dining room, at a table that would have accommodated three times their number with room to spare. It did not make for a relaxed atmosphere, and conversation was so stilted that Laura wished Paolo and his mother would just speak Italian to each other, and leave her out of the situation.

She realised, of course, that she was being grilled. Remembered too that she and Paolo had agreed to keep her actual personal details to a minimum. As far as the Signora was concerned, she was a girl who shared a flat with several others, and who enjoyed a good time. Someone, she hinted with a touch of coyness, who had not allowed for the sudden entry of Mr Right into her life. And she sent Paolo a languishing look.

And whatever slights and unpleasantness might come her way, Laura knew she would always treasure the memory of the expression on the august lady’s face as she absorbed that.

She had rehearsed the invented story of how and when she and Paolo had met so often that she was word-perfect. After all, she needed to give the impression that theirs was an established relationship of at least two months’ standing, which deserved to be taken seriously, and might be ready to move on to the next stage.

For Steve, she thought with wry regret, substitute Paolo.

She even managed to turn some of the Signora’s more probing queries into her background back on themselves by ingenuously asking what Paolo had been like as a small boy, and whether there were any childhood photographs of him that she could see.

She had to admit the food was delicious, although she’d had little appetite for it. And when dinner was over they returned to the salotto, and listened to music by Monteverdi.

And that, thought Laura, was by far the most pleasant part of the evening, not just because her late father had loved the same composer, but because conversation was kept to a minimum.

She was just beginning to relax when the Signora announced in a tone that did not welcome opposition that it was time to retire for the night.

Paolo wished her a very correct goodnight outside the salotto, but when Laura, dressing-gown clad, returned from the bathroom, she found him waiting in her room.

She checked uneasily. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I wished to speak to you in private.’ The grin he sent her was triumphant. ‘You are completely brilliant, carissima. Dio mio, you almost convinced me. And Mamma is in such a fury.’ He shook his head. ‘I have just overheard her on the telephone, and she was incandescente. She must be speaking to her old friend Camilla Montecorvo, because she mentioned the name Vittoria several times.’

‘Does that mean something?’ Laura felt suddenly tired, and more than a little bewildered.

‘Vittoria is the nuora—the daughter-in-law—of Signora Montecorvo,’ Paolo explained, his grin widening. ‘She causes big problems, and Mamma has heard all about them. Always, she has been the one to give advice to Camilla. But now it is her turn to complain,’ he added gleefully. ‘And she insists that her friend must listen, and help her.’

He almost hugged himself. ‘It is all going as I hoped.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’ Laura bit her lip.

‘You are regretting Tuscany?’ Paolo shrugged. ‘It was an unwelcome surprise for me also. And Alessio has other houses he could have lent Mamma that are not as remote as Besavoro,’ he added, grimacing. ‘For instance, he has a place near Sorrento where he keeps his boat, but no doubt he will be using that himself. He would not choose to stay anywhere near Mamma, so calm yourself on that point.’