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

And, if he was right, he thought cynically, then he would have to convince her that he would be a far more generous proposition than his cousin. That, financially, she would do much better as his mistress than as Paolo’s wife.

A much pleasanter task, he resolved, would be to set himself to create for her such an intensity of physical delight that she would forget all other men in his arms. It occurred to him, wryly, that it was the least she deserved.

But what do I deserve? he asked himself quietly. And could find no answer.

‘What is this? What are you saying?’ Paolo’s face was mottled with annoyance.

‘I want to go home,’ Laura repeated levelly. ‘I—I’m totally in the way here, and it’s becoming a serious embarrassment for me.’

‘An embarrassment for which you will be well paid,’ he snapped. He paused. ‘But what you ask is not possible. My mother will become suspicious if you go home alone—think that we have quarrelled.’

‘I fail to see how,’ Laura said coldly. ‘We haven’t spent enough time together to have a row.’

He waved an impatient hand. ‘I have worked too hard to convince her to fail now.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But we could leave earlier than planned, if we go together—in two or three days, perhaps.’

‘Will you be well enough to travel?’ Laura asked acidly, but her sarcasm was wasted.

He shrugged. ‘We must hope. And Mamma intends me to take a little trip with her very soon, so we shall see.’

She said quietly, ‘Paolo, I’m deadly serious about this, and I don’t intend to wait indefinitely. In twenty-four hours, I’m looking for another flight.’

I can survive that long, she thought bleakly as she went to her room to change for dinner. But this time, I’ll be the one adopting the avoidance tactics.

CHAPTER EIGHT

NOTHING happened. Nothing happened. The words echoed and re-echoed in Laura’s head, matching the reluctant click of her heels on the tiled floor as she walked to the salotto that evening.

But even if that was true, she could hardly take credit for it, she acknowledged bitterly. Nor could she pretend otherwise for her own peace of mind. And she felt as guilty as if she and Paolo had been genuinely involved with each other.

She’d stayed in her room as long as possible, pacing restlessly up and down, frankly dreading the moment when she would have to face Alessio again.

She still seemed to feel his touch as if it were somehow ingrained in her. She’d been almost surprised, as she’d stood under the shower, not to find the actual marks of his fingers—the scar left by the graze of his lips on her skin.

But, invisible or not, they were there, she knew, and she would carry them for ever.

Guillermo was hovering almost anxiously in the hallway, emphasising how late she’d left her arrival, and he sprang forward, beaming, to open the carved double doors to admit her to the salotto.

She squared her shoulders and walked in, braced—for what? Mockery—indifference? Or something infinitely more dangerous…

And halted, her brows lifting in astonishment. Because she was not to be alone with Alessio as she’d feared after all. Paolo was there, reclining on a sofa, looking sullen, while the Signora occupied a high-backed armchair nearby, her lips compressed as if annoyed about something.

And, alone by the open windows, looking out into the night, was Alessio, glass in hand.

All heads turned as Laura came forward, and she was immediately aware of an odd atmosphere in the silent room—a kind of angry tension. But she ignored it and went straight to Paolo, who rose sulkily to his feet at her approach.

‘Darling,’ she said. She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘You didn’t say you were getting up for dinner. What a wonderful surprise.’

‘Well, I shall not be able to take the time I need to recuperate, when you are in such a hurry to fly home,’ he returned peevishly, making her long to kick him.

‘Signorina Mason—at last you join us.’ The Signora’s smile glittered coldly at her. ‘We were just talking about you. We have a small predicament, you understand.’

‘I can’t see what that could be. Paolo’s well again.’ Laura slid a hand through his arm as she faced the older woman, chin up. ‘That’s all that really matters.’

‘Then I hope you are prepared to be gracious,’ said the Signora, her smile a little fixed. ‘Because tomorrow I must tear him away from you. We are to pay a visit to my dearest friend, and remain for lunch. She is not aware of your presence here, so I regret that you have not been included in her invitation. You will, I hope, forgive our absence.’

She turned her head towards Alessio, who looked back, his face expressionless.

‘And now it seems that you will also be deserted by our host,’ she went on, her voice faintly metallic. ‘My nephew tells me he has business in Perugia tomorrow that cannot be postponed. We were—discussing the problem.’

Laura found herself torn between relief and a sense of desolation so profound that she was ashamed of herself. She dared not risk a glance in the direction of the tall young man standing in silence by the window.

Once again, it seemed, he was—letting her go.

‘It’s kind of you to be concerned, signora,’ she returned with total insincerity. ‘But I’m quite accustomed to my own company. Besides, His Excellency has already given me far too much of his time. And I have my packing to do. The time will pass in a flash.’

The Signora gave her a long look, then addressed herself to her nephew. ‘Camilla tells me that her son, Fabrizio, will be joining us tomorrow, with his beautiful wife—I forget her name. Do you wish me to convey any message to them on your behalf?’

There was another tingling silence. Then: ‘No,’ Alessio said icily. ‘I thank you.’

‘Then let us dine,’ said the Signora. ‘I have quite an appetite. Come, signorina.’

On the way to the dining room, Alessio detained his cousin. ‘Why in the name of God have you agreed to go to Trasimeno tomorrow?’ he demanded in an undertone.

Paolo shrugged. ‘Mamma has suddenly become more amenable on the subject of my marriage plans. I felt she deserved a small concession. Besides,’ he added, leering, ‘you heard her say that tasty little plum Vittoria Montecorvo was going to be there. I thought I might try my chances with her.’

A single spark of unholy joy penetrated Alessio’s inner darkness. ‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘Rumour says the lady is—recep-tive.’ He paused. ‘Although there is an obstacle, of course.’

‘Obstacle?’ Paolo stared at him, then laughed. ‘You mean the husband? No problem there. He’s a total fool.’

‘I was thinking,’ Alessio said levelly, ‘of Signorina Mason.’

‘Ah—yes.’ Paolo looked shifty. ‘But we are not married yet, and a man should be allowed his bachelor pleasures.’

‘I could not agree more,’ Alessio told him softly. ‘I wish you luck, cousin.’

If Laura had thought the presence of other people at the table would make the situation easier, she soon realised her mistake.

Only the Signora, who seemed to have belatedly rediscovered the laws of hospitality and chattered almost vivaciously throughout dinner, appeared to enjoy the lengthy meal. Paolo was lost in some pleasant day-dream and hardly said a word, while Alessio’s responses to his aunt’s heavily playful remarks were crisp and monosyllabic.

Altogether, the atmosphere was tricky, and Laura, to her shame, found herself remembering almost nostalgically the meals she’d eaten alone with Alessio.

Don’t even go there, she adjured herself severely as the ordeal drew to a close.

They returned to the salotto for coffee, and it occurred to her that she ought to talk to Paolo privately, and make certain that he’d taken seriously her insistence on going home. And that he intended to call the airline and change their flight as soon as he got back tomorrow.

She said with feigned brightness, ‘Paolo, darling, why don’t we have our coffee on the terrace? It’s such a beautiful night and we can—enjoy the moonlight together.’

For a moment, she thought he was going to refuse, then comprehension dawned. ‘But of course,’ he said. ‘What a wonderful idea.’

As she walked out through the windows she was aware of Alessio’s enigmatic stare following her. She paused, realising that she was breathing much too fast, and went to lean on the balustrade as she tried to regain her composure.

If she was honest, she thought, looking up at the sky, it was far from being a lovely night. The air was hot and stifling, and there was a haze over the moon. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sign of bad weather to come?

Then, as she waited she heard somewhere in the distance the long-drawn-out howl of an animal, an eerie sound that echoed round the hills, and made the fine hairs stand up on the nape of her neck.

Gasping, she turned and almost cannoned into Alessio, who was standing just behind her.

She recoiled violently. ‘Oh, God, you startled me.’ She swallowed. ‘That noise—did you hear it?’

‘It was a wolf, nothing more.’ He put the cup of coffee he was carrying on the balustrade. ‘They live in the forests, which is one of the reasons Fredo likes to stay up there too—to protect his goats. Didn’t Paolo warn you about them?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He mentioned them.’ She added coldly, ‘But he failed to tell me that they don’t all live in forests.’

Alessio winced elaborately. ‘A little unjust, bella mia. According to the experts, wolves mate for life.’

‘The four-legged kind, maybe.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never heard any of them before this evening. Why is that?’

‘They are more vocal in the early spring, when they are breeding,’ he explained. ‘Perhaps, tonight, something has disturbed them.’

‘Perhaps.’ She looked past him towards the lights of the sal-otto. ‘Where’s Paolo?’

‘His mother decided that the night air would be bad for his chest,’ he said solemnly. ‘And, as they have a journey tomorrow, she has persuaded him to have an early night.’ He indicated the cup. ‘So I brought your coffee to you.’ He added, silkily, ‘I regret your disappointment.’

‘Paolo’s health,’ she said stonily, ‘is far more important.’

The howl of the wolf came again, and she shivered. ‘That’s such a—lonely sound.’

‘Maybe he is alone, and lonely.’ Alessio faced her, leaning against the balustrade. ‘A wolf occasionally does separate from the pack, and find that he does not wish to be solitary after all.’

‘Well, I won’t waste too much sympathy.’ Laura kept her tone crisp. ‘Wolves are predators, and I expect there are quite enough stray females about to prevent them becoming totally isolated. What do you think, signore?’

He grinned at her, unfazed. ‘I think that I would very much like to put you across my knee, and spank you, signorina,’ he drawled. ‘But that, alas, would not be—politically correct. So I will leave you before you draw any more unflattering comparisons.’

And that, Laura thought bleakly, when he’d gone and she was left staring into the darkness, was probably our last exchange. I insulted him, and he threatened me with physical violence. Tomorrow he’ll be in Perugia. The day after, I’ll be on the plane to London. End of story.

And she looked up at the blurred moon, and realised unhappily that she felt like howling herself.

Laura made sure she was around in the morning to bid Paolo an openly fond farewell.

‘As soon as you get back,’ she whispered as she hugged him, ‘you must phone the airline and change our flights. Please, Paolo. I—I can’t stand it here much longer.’

‘You are better off here than lunching with Camilla Montecorvo. She is a bigger dragon than my mother,’ he returned morosely. ‘And at least you will have the place to yourself while my cousin is in Perugia on this mysterious business of his.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘If you ask me, he has a woman there, so he may not come back at all.’ Then, more loudly, ‘Arrivederci, carissima. Hold me in your heart until I return.’

Breakfast, as usual, was served on the terrace, although Laura was not so sure this was a good idea. It was not a pleasant morning. The air was sultry, and there was no faint breeze to counteract it. Looking up, she saw that there were small clouds already gathering around the crests of the hills, and realised that Fredo’s change in the weather was really on its way.

She thought, Everything’s changing… and shivered.

She also noticed that two places had been set at the table.

‘His Excellency comes soon,’ Emilia told her. ‘He swims.’

Yes, thought Laura, biting her lip, fighting the sudden image in her mind. He—told me.

For a moment she let herself wonder what would happen if she went down to the pool and joined him there.

‘I’ve come for my swimming lesson,’ she could say as she slid down into the water, and into his arms…

She shook herself mentally. She would never behave in such a way, not in a thousand years, so it was crazy even to think like that. And futile too.

A woman in Perugia, Paolo had said.

The lone wolf off hunting his prey, she thought. Looking for a mate.

And that, she told herself forcibly, her mind flinching, was definitely a no-go area. How the Count Ramontella chose to amuse himself was his own affair. And at least she had ensured that she would not be providing his entertainment, however shamefully tempting that might be.

At that moment Alessio arrived, striding up the steps from the pool, damp hair gleaming and a towel flung over his bare shoulder. He was even wearing, she saw, the same ancient white shorts as on the day of her arrival.

‘Buon giorno.’ He took the seat opposite, the dark gaze scanning her mockingly. ‘You did not join me in the pool this morning.’

‘I hardly think you expected me to,’ Laura retorted coolly, refusing to think about how close a call it had been.

‘I expect very little,’ he said. ‘In that way I am sometimes pleasantly surprised.’ His eyes sharpened a little. ‘I hope you slept well, but it does not seem so. You have shadows under your eyes.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said shortly, helping herself to orange juice. ‘But I think the heat’s beginning to get to me. I’ll be glad to go home.’

‘Yet for Paolo, this is home,’ he reminded her softly. ‘So maybe you should try to accustom yourself to our climate, hmm?’

She glanced back at the hills. ‘At the moment it seems a little unpredictable.’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We are undoubtedly going to have a storm.’ He poured himself some coffee. ‘Are you afraid of thunder, Laura mia?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looked down at her plate. ‘And sometimes a storm can—clear the air.’

‘Or breed more storms.’ He paused. ‘Did you say a fond goodbye to your innamorato this morning?’

‘He’s going for lunch with friends,’ she said. ‘Not trekking in the Himalayas.’

‘Both can be equally dangerous. I suspect that my aunt may have arranged for Beatrice Manzone to be present.’ He paused. ‘Does that disturb you?’

She kept her eyes fixed on her plate. ‘Paolo is old enough to make his own decisions. I—I simply have to trust him to do that.’

‘How admirable you are, mia cara.’ His tone was sardonic. He finished his coffee in a single swallow, and rose. ‘And now I too must leave you. But, unlike Paolo, you are in safe hands.’ He gave her a tight-lipped smile. ‘Guillermo and Emilia will look after you well.’

But when are you coming back? She thought it, but did not say it. Could not say it.

She watched him disappear into the house, and pushed her food away untouched as pain twisted inside her. There was so much, she thought, that she dared not let him see. So much that would still haunt her even when the width of Europe divided them—and when she herself was long forgotten.

It was going to be, she told herself unhappily, a very long day.

In fact, it seemed endless. She didn’t even have Caio’s company, as the Signora had chosen to reclaim him that morning, announcing imperiously that he would be accompanying them to Trasimeno. Laura had seen him struggling, his small face woebegone as he was carried inexorably to the car.

She spent some time by the pool, but soon gave it up as a bad job. The clouds had begun to gather in earnest, accompanied now by a strong, gusting wind, and even a few spots of rain, so she gathered up her things and returned to the villa.

She’d finished Mansfield Park so she went along to Alessio’s library and returned it, borrowing Pride and Prejudice instead. She knew the story so well, she thought, that she could easily read it before it was time for her to leave.

She lingered for a while looking round the room. It seemed to vibrate with his presence. Any moment now, she thought, he would stride in, flinging himself into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, and pulling the laptop computer towards him, the dark face absorbed.

The desk itself was immaculately tidy. Besides the laptop, it held only a tray containing a few sheets of the Arleschi Bank’s headed notepaper, and that leather-bound copy of Petrarch’s poetry that he’d been reading.

She opened the book at random, and tried to decipher some of the lines, but it was hopeless—rather like the love the poems described, she told herself wryly.

From the eyes to the heart, she thought, the words echoing sadly in her mind. How simple—and how fatal.

To Emilia’s obvious concern, she opted to lunch only on soup and a salad. The working girl’s diet, she reminded herself, her mouth twisting.

Elizabeth Bennett’s clashes with Mr Darcy kept her occupied during the afternoon, but as evening approached Laura began to get restive. The skies were dark now, the menacing clouds like slate, and Emilia came bustling in to light the lamps, and also, she saw, with faint alarm, to bring in some branched candlesticks, which were placed strategically round the room, while Guillermo arrived with a basket of logs and proceeded to kindle a fire in the grate.

Laura was grateful for that, because the temperature had dropped quite significantly, and the crackling flames made the room feel cheerful.

But as time passed her worries deepened. Paolo knew she was relying on him to organise their departure, she thought, so surely he must return soon, especially with the deterioration in the weather.

She could see lightning flashes, and hear thunder rumbling round the hills, coming closer all the time. She remembered nervously that, in spite of her brave words at breakfast, she really didn’t like storms at all. And this one looked as if it was going to be serious stuff.

It was raining heavily by now, the water drumming a ceaseless tattoo on the terrace outside. She dared not think what the road from Besavoro would be like, and her feeling of isolation began to prey on her.

Think about something else, she adjured herself as she went off to change for dinner, even though it seemed as if she’d be eating alone. Don’t contemplate Alessio driving back from Perugia in the Jeep, because he almost certainly won’t be. He has every excuse now, always supposing he needed one, to stay the night there.

She put on the silver dress and stood for a moment, regarding herself with disfavour. Her wardrobe had been woefully inadequate for the purpose from day one, she thought. And it was only thanks to Emilia’s efficient laundry service that she’d managed to survive.

As for this dress—well, she wouldn’t care if she never saw it again.

By the time she got back to the salotto, the storm was even closer, and the lamps, she saw, were flickering ominously with every lightning flash.

And then, above the noise of the storm, she heard the distant sound of a vehicle, and a moment later Guillermo’s voice raised in greeting.

Paolo, she thought with relief. At last. They’d made it.

She was halfway to the doors when they opened and she halted, her heart bumping, a shocked hand going to her throat.

She said hoarsely, ‘I—I thought you were in Perugia.’

‘I was,’ Alessio said. He advanced into the room, rain glistening on his hair, shrugging off the trench coat he was wearing and throwing it carelessly across the back of a chair. ‘But I did not think it was right for you to be alone here in these conditions, so I came back.’ He gave her a mocking smile. ‘You are allowed to be grateful.’

‘I’m used to weather,’ she returned, lifting her chin. ‘In England we have loads of it.’ She hesitated. ‘I thought—I hoped Paolo had come back.’

He said lightly, ‘I fear I have a disappointment for you. The servants took a call from my aunt two hours ago. In view of the weather, they have decided to remain at Trasimeno for the night. Or that is the story. So—you and I are alone, bella mia.’

And as he spoke all the lights went off. Laura cried out, and in a stride Alessio was beside her, taking her hands in his, drawing her towards him.

‘Scared of the dark, carissima?’ he asked softly.

‘Not usually,’ she said shakily. And far more scared of you, signore, she whispered under her breath. ‘It’s just—everything happening at once,’ she added on a little gasp, tinglingly conscious of his proximity.

Don’t let him know that it matters, she ordered herself sternly. For heaven’s sake, act normally. And say something with no personal connotations, if that’s possible.

She cleared her throat. ‘Does the power always go off when there’s a storm?’

‘More often than I could wish. We have a generator for backup at such times, but I prefer to keep it in reserve for real emergencies.’ He paused. ‘But Emilia does not like to cook with electricity, so at least dinner is safe.’

He let her go almost casually, and walked over to the fireplace, leaving Laura to breathe freely again. He took down a taper from the wide stone shelf above the hearth and lit it at the fire.

As he moved round the room each candle burst into light like a delicate golden blossom, and in spite of her misgivings Laura was charmed into an involuntary sigh of delight.

‘You see.’ He tossed the remains of the taper into the wide grate and smiled at her. ‘Firelight and candle glow. Better, I think, than electricity.’

Not, she thought, aware that she was trembling inside, in these particular circumstances.

She steadied her voice. ‘And certainly more in keeping with the age of the villa.’

Alessio inclined his head courteously. ‘As you say.’ He paused. ‘May I get you a drink?’

‘Just some mineral water, please.’ Keep sane—keep sober.

His brows rose slightly, but he said nothing, bringing her exactly what she’d asked for and pouring a whisky for himself.

Laura sat on the edge of the sofa, gripping the crystal tumbler in one hand and nervously rearranging the folds of her skirt with the other.

Alessio added some more wood to the fire and straightened, dusting his hands. He sent her a considering look under his lashes, noting the tension in every line of her, and realising that he needed to ease the situation a little.

He said quietly, ‘Laura, will you make me a promise?’

She looked up, startled, and instantly wary. ‘I don’t know. It—it would depend on what it was.’

‘Nothing too difficult. I wish you to swear that when you are back in London you will go swimming at least once a week. You lack only confidence.’

‘I suppose I could manage that,’ she said slowly. ‘There are some swimming baths quite near where I live.’

‘Then there is no problem.’ He added casually, ‘Get Paolo to go with you.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, her mouth curving in such unexpected mischief that his heart missed a beat. ‘If his health improves.’

He grinned back, shrugging. ‘You can always hope, caris-sima.’

It had worked to some extent, he thought. She was no longer clinging to her glass as if it were a lifeline. But that strange intangible barrier that she’d built between them was still there.