At Her Latin Lover's Command

Yes. She had the impression he would. She leaned tiredly against a marble pillar, her head feeling as if it might burst.

‘So I have discovered. How long before Carlo is here?’

‘My mother will drive to the car ferry to cross the lake, then it’s a short drive to my friend’s house. By the time she’s eased Carlo from the party and made the return trip…say an hour or a little longer.’

She nodded. ‘I do need a few moments to myself. I’d like to lie down. Where can I crash out?’

‘Your bedroom—’

‘No,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d never wake up. Somewhere comfortable where I can curl up in an armchair.’

‘The library, then,’ he said at once. ‘No one will disturb you there and you can use the sofa. Shall I—?’

‘No!’ He had extended an arm, as if to support her. She shrank from his touch and said stiffly, ‘Point me in the right direction.’

‘Of course.’

At least he seemed to have realised that she’d scream if he pawed her, or scolded her any more. She badly needed to be left in peace for a while, to chew over what she’d taken on.

But she stumbled and his hand shot out to stop her from falling. For a moment she hovered dangerously close to him, every cell in her body begging her to fall into his arms, and then he was pushing her along impatiently as if he, too, wanted nothing more than to be free and alone.

Then, somewhere in the distance, she heard a high-pitched voice she recognised.

‘Lizzie!’ She groaned in dismay.

‘I’ll deal with her. She can stay the night then I’ll put her on the next flight back first thing in the morning.’

‘I should speak to her…’ Miranda chewed her lip guiltily. 0‘I’ll ned to explain—’

‘Leave a note,’ he advised. ‘Let me handle her. If I stuff money into her bag I’m sure she’ll be co-operative. I’ll get Guido to meet her flight in London. He’ll smooth things over.’

Miranda winced at his contempt for Lizzie but knew he was right. And she really couldn’t face her sister. Later she’d invite her over and give her a nice time.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and allowed herself to be led into the library, where she scrawled a hasty note and handed it to Dante.

Her gaze scanned the walls of books, tiers upon tiers of them in carved bookshelves, which stretched right up to the high, carved ceiling. The volumes were nearly all leather-bound and were probably valuable antiques.

It seemed that every detail of the house underlined Dante’s newly acquired wealth and power. Everywhere she looked—the gilded furniture, fine porcelain, the crystal chandeliers, the frescoed ceiling—she discovered further evidence of the Severini heritage. And Carlo would own this one day.

Her job would be to keep him human. Normal. To know more than this world with its rarefied atmosphere. Yes. She had an important role to play. And Dante had better accept that.

She reached the soft cream sofa and her body sank into its welcoming depths with relief. Pulling a handful of silk cushions towards her, she arranged them comfortably behind her aching back and kicked off her shoes.

Without a word, Dante poured her a glass of water from a crystal decanter, handed it to her, then walked quietly away, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. Leaving her in the hushed, muffled silence.

Now she could flop. Every bone in her body felt as if it might crack. Her muscles ached from being held in tension. Limply she raised a hand and lightly massaged her forehead, then held the cold glass against her throbbing temples.

What a dramatic turn her life had taken! It was almost unbelievable. She was to live here, to all intents and purposes the count’s wife. La contessa!

Her eyes closed in dismay. Acting out a charade would be hard enough, but to be isolated in a foreign country…

‘Heaven help me!’ she whispered. ‘Give me strength, for Carlo’s sake!’

She quailed at the daunting prospect. To enable her to cope she would negotiate her own rules with Dante. Invite friends over. Make a life of her own.

Dante would not rule her with an iron fist. Carlo must see at first hand that marriage was a partnership. The last thing she wanted was for her own son to see her as inferior—or for him to grow up with the same attitude to women as his father.

She vowed that Carlo would learn that women were to be treated with respect. That they must be loved for their individuality and not treated as a convenience.

She made a wry face. What was she doing? He was only just three years old! And yet, she thought more soberly, he would undoubtedly pick up his future attitudes from the cradle.

Her teeth snagged at her lip. When Carlo had been spirited away, he’d had a sweet and loving nature. She prayed that he hadn’t suffered any long-term damage and that they could rebuild any feelings of abandonment and insecurity.

Given Dante’s total commitment, they probably could. She would talk to Dante and they’d draw a line under the past two weeks. In Carlo they had a combined interest. They could live a civilised life. They must, for their son’s emotional wellbeing.

Thinking of her son’s small, sunny face, she gave a blissful smile. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she whispered passionately. ‘See you soon, very soon!’ And with her nerves calmed by this reassuring thought, she drifted off to sleep.

It was dark when she woke. A small glow of light from the moon silvered the gleaming marble floor so that it looked like a vast lake.

Immediately she sat up in alarm. Night? The luminous dial on her watch told her it was ten o’clock.

Her entire body froze. She’d slept for four hours. And Dante had not kept his promise to bring Carlo to her! She let out a wail of dismay.

Without stopping to put on her shoes, she ran through the faintly lit room and into the corridor that led to the hall, her hair falling from its pins and flying loose around her frantic face like a silky white curtain.

‘Dante!’ she yelled in fury and panic. ‘Dante!’

There came the sound of a man’s feet, running. The door to a brightly lit room burst open and Dante came hurrying out, frowning deeply.

‘Miranda! Hush! What is it?’ he demanded, coming to a sudden halt a foot away from her.

‘Carlo!’ she jerked brokenly and could say nothing else.

At the mention of his son’s name, his features softened. ‘Asleep. Do you want to see him?’ he asked in an almost gentle tone.

Emotion had claimed her vocal cords. Mutely she nodded, her eyes huge and misty.

‘I thought… I thought…’ she said, sounding strangled.

‘I know,’ he said tightly. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘If you’re playing a trick on me, I’ll make you sorry you were born!’ she muttered.

He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you would.’

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she demanded fretfully as he led her to the grand staircase.

‘There was no point,’ Dante explained stiffly. ‘After the hours of activity and excitement, he fell asleep in my mother’s car on the way back.’

‘That’s no reason not to wake me! I wouldn’t have cared! Just to see his face…’

The words became choked with disappointment and she had to stop.

‘I did come in to tell you he was home,’ he said quietly. ‘But you looked very peaceful in your sleep. You were—’ he frowned ‘—smiling. And yet you had an air of exhaustion. I did not have the heart to wake you. I’m sorry if it was the wrong decision, but my mother agreed that another night wouldn’t make much difference, and that both of you needed to rest.’

‘Because of my illness,’ Miranda muttered mutinously, sweeping her hair behind her ears.

She trembled a little. It gave her an odd feeling to know that he’d watched her sleeping.

‘I’m sorry about that, I should have warned you about the story I’d invented to cover your absence, but I wasn’t expecting Mama to turn up,’ he explained. ‘When I left England so unexpectedly with Carlo I didn’t know what to tell her—or anyone else for that matter. I couldn’t bring myself to reveal the truth.’ His face darkened. ‘Whatever happened, I didn’t want our child to discover one day how badly you had behaved. So I lied while I worked out what to do for the best.’

‘You didn’t lie to your chauffeur.’ She looked him directly in the eye.

‘How do you know that?’

‘The way he treated me. Without respect.’

‘I will speak to Luca. My chauffeur,’ Dante said quietly.

‘Do that. What exactly did you tell him?’ she demanded.

‘The bare minimum. Luca drove Carlo and me from Malpensa—Milan Airport—after…after I found you that evening,’ Dante replied in a low tone. ‘He knew I was in a terrible state. Kept Carlo amused with songs and stories. Fed me coffee and brandy, bought a toy for Carlo at the service station on the Autostrada to entertain him. Somehow I let slip that you’d been unfaithful.’

‘Dante! How could you?’ she cried in dismay.

He frowned. ‘He is one of the few I trust—apart from Guido, of course—who wouldn’t dream of tarnishing the family honour with any revelations. As far as Luca is concerned, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut, but I wasn’t in full possession of my senses,’ he said tightly. ‘But he’ll say nothing, for my sake. His father worked for mine. Luca has been my European driver since he left school and is totally loyal and reliable. He won’t even have said anything to his wife. You can be sure of that.’

And she’d speak to Luca, too, she vowed. Put her side of the story.

Dante opened a massive carved door at the top of the stairs and politely stood to one side in a gesture that still made her feel cherished. Luca forgotten, Miranda smiled in anticipation, her eyes searching the darkened room within as she stepped breathlessly into the room. Dante softly closed the door behind them.

A small lamp glowed by the bed, its soft light illuminating…

She frowned, staring at the vast canopied four-poster, elaborately decorated. Rich brocade hangings.

Her senses alerted, she quickly scanned the bedroom. It was very masculine, despite the elegant eighteenth-century furniture. Seeing Dante’s honey-coloured silk robe on a chair, she stopped breathing.

No sign of Carlo. This wasn’t a child’s room at all. Almost certainly it belonged to Dante himself. And why would he bring her to his bedroom…?

In a fury she whirled around. ‘You rat! Let me out—!’

She didn’t finish the sentence. Dante had caught her arms in warning.

‘Be quiet!’ he whispered fiercely. ‘You’ll wake him!’

Before she could gather her wits, she found herself being pushed towards the bed. Her head whirled. She felt strangely dizzy. It was as if she were in a time warp; those hands holding her—though she remembered them as being more brutal—and a sense of being trapped and helpless…

‘There! Now will you believe me?’ Dante muttered.

Despite the rising terror, she blinked away the fog and focused. The fear vanished in an instant when she saw the dark head of her sleeping child.

‘Carlo!’ she whispered. Dante released her. She ran to the bed and knelt in a fever of joy. ‘Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you!’ she breathed, somehow holding back her intense longing to catch up her son and crush him in her arms. He looked utterly content, the long black lashes settling thickly on his baby cheeks, the rosebud mouth pursed in sleep. ‘Mummy’s here,’ she said, choked. Maybe in his dreams he’d hear what she was saying. ‘Mummy’s come back.’

Tentatively she reached out an alarmingly shaky hand and touched the chubby little arm clad in the dinosaur pyjamas with dinosaur buttons which she’d bought for him shortly before he’d disappeared. Carlo sighed and then he smiled his creamy smile.

Speech was beyond her. Miranda’s own face lit up with a soft radiance because she imagined that he really did know she was close by. And her heart melted completely when his mouth began making little sucking noises as if he were still at her breast.

Gently she replaced the covers, which Dante had drawn back so that she could see her son. Carlo snuggled into them, his dark head almost disappearing. From a few feet away it would be hard to know he was there.

With loving motions she smoothed the oyster silk bedspread and hungrily watched her son sleeping. She was filled with happiness, with choking emotion, with uncontainable love.

Two weeks. It had been an eternity. Days, hours, minutes, seconds of interminable misery. But they would not be parted again. Dante had promised…

Remembering him, she looked around. He was watching her, his dark eyes silvery from the reflected light of the moon. For a moment it almost seemed as though they were full of tears but she knew it was an illusion when he growled in a surly tone,

‘I think I’m owed an apology.’

Her eyes widened and she rose unsteadily to her feet.

‘Why?’

‘You thought I’d brought you to my room to seduce you. Or do you think I might have tried rape?’ he grated.

Her elation faded and she bit her lip. She pushed her hand through her tumbling curtain of hair, trying to tidy it.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I panicked when I realised this was your room. It never occurred to me that Carlo would be here. It only goes to show how little I trust you, doesn’t it?’ she finished sadly. ‘Why is he in your bedroom, anyway?’

He stalked to the door and motioned for her to leave. Once outside, he launched into a tightly controlled explanation.

‘Carlo wouldn’t sleep on his own. Each night he stayed up with me, constantly asking when you were coming home. He would only fall asleep if I held him in my arms. If I put him in a bed of his own he knew, even in his sleep, that he wasn’t being cuddled and he’d wake up yelling.’

Miranda flinched. ‘Poor darling! He knew something was wrong—’

‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Dante said tightly. ‘Do you think it didn’t tear me apart? I couldn’t bear his misery. I began to take him into my own bed when I retired for the night. Now he’s happy to sleep there without me because he feels secure in it. In time I hope he’ll go to his own room. But for now, he needs love, Miranda!’ he added angrily. ‘He’s been starved of it, poor child—’

‘That’s absolute rubbish! Don’t you dare to accuse me without proof!’ she cried, close to breaking point.

And to her dismay, the world seemed to whirl around and she swayed unsteadily on her feet.

‘Che Dio mi aiuti!’ he swore, his strong hands immediately steadying her. ‘No more of this. You need to eat. It’s past ten o’clock and you have hardly eaten anything all day, I imagine.’

Miranda tried to remember. ‘I had coffee,’ she began. But could think of nothing else. She’d been too churned up to swallow a thing.

‘As I thought,’ he said with irritation. ‘No wonder you can hardly stand. Come down and eat with me.’

She shrank from the idea and the memories it aroused. Sometimes they had fed one another. And they had gone on to satisfy other, more urgent appetites.

‘It’s late. I’m tired,’ she demurred, afraid of her weakness, of the hold he had over her senses. ‘I’ll be fine when I get to bed—’

‘Do you want to be well tomorrow?’ he demanded. ‘To play with Carlo? To have some energy? D’accordo. You will eat something. I insist.’

She capitulated suddenly, realising that he was right. And discovered to her surprise that she was very hungry indeed. ‘Yes. I will. Now I’ve seen Carlo,’ she said, her face becoming soft and tender with motherly love, ‘I think I could eat for England.’

Dante said nothing but his hands dropped from her arms abruptly and he turned away from her, his expression stone-hard. Her happiness evaporated in the teeth of his hatred and she vowed again to prove her innocence—though how, she couldn’t imagine.

As they descended the stairs she felt alarmingly woozy from lack of food and too much caffeine, and grabbed the gleaming banister. She sensed an instinctive movement of Dante’s hand in her direction and then its withdrawal. He was very tense and she wondered why.

The meal was conducted in total silence apart from the scrape of silver forks on plates and the soft background music Dante liked during dinner.

Miranda concentrated on assuaging her hunger with an artistically arranged antipasto of Parma ham, pâté, pasta and diced vegetables, then prawns in raspberry vinegar followed by cheese and fruit. It was the kind of food which would once have pleased all her senses but Dante’s cold indifference ruined her enjoyment and turned it into nothing other than a necessary fuel for the body.

The vintage wine, however, gradually made her feel as if all her muscles were oozing into her melting bones. Flushed and bright-eyed, with her hair tumbling about her face, she popped the last grape into her mouth and wiped her fingers on the soft napkin.

‘I’ll turn in now,’ she said quietly, wondering how many silent dinners she’d have to endure over the coming years. Unusually emotional, she blinked and swallowed before she was able to add, ‘Perhaps you’d show me my room.’

He looked up and their eyes met. His frown smoothed out and was replaced by a longing so deep and visceral that she caught her breath, her lips parting and swelling. She had discarded her jacket and knew that the silk of her cream camisole was suddenly tight where her breasts had bloomed into new life.

She couldn’t speak, dared not move, and could only stare at him helplessly and hope that her stupid desire for him would vanish in time. Preferably during the next few seconds.

She took a deep breath and realised that she had innocently drawn Dante’s dark, hot eyes back to her straining breasts.

The atmosphere thickened and became suffocating. The pool of heat between her legs intensified. The magic was still there. For both of them. In her fantasy, they’d fall into one another’s arms and he would declare that he’d loved her all along and his uncle’s inheritance was purely a coincidence…

‘Go into my bedroom, turn right through the double doors into the adjoining apartment. I’ll lock the doors when I come up in a moment,’ he rasped.

It was as if he’d slapped her. He knew full well that she was aroused. The cynical curl of that sensuous mouth told her that. And because he believed her to be soiled goods, he was determined not to give way to his own desire. Or even to do the gentlemanly thing and escort her to her room.

Humiliated and struggling for composure, she stalled until she felt certain she could walk away with dignity.

‘Fine. And what time does Carlo wake?’ she asked coolly.

‘About seven.’

‘Will you be dressed by then?’ she enquired.

‘If the door’s unlocked, I’ll be dressed.’

‘I’ll knock, just in case,’ she said tartly, and she rose to her feet and stalked out, her heart breaking.

CHAPTER SIX

‘MIRANDA! Miranda!’

She was being shaken. Crying in fright, she fought her assailant and this time, this time, instead of being unable to move a muscle, she found her fists connecting with flesh.

This, too, had happened before, she thought. And sickness rose in her throat adding to the terror.

‘Get off me! Get off me!’ she screamed instinctively, utterly disorientated.

A hand clapped over her mouth—again. Please, sweet heaven, not again!

Normally her eyes stayed stubbornly shut during her nightmares, but now they snapped open. The light was on in her adjoining sitting room, allowing her to see Dante bending over her, his robe hanging loose to show his bare torso above pale gold pyjama bottoms.

‘Keep the noise down!’ he hissed.

She cringed. Was this what had happened on that fateful evening? Dante assaulting her, she fighting him off…

Groggy from sleep, not fully alert, she lashed out, her arms and legs pummelling him unmercifully. But he resisted, taking the blows with a wince and leaning unnervingly close.

‘Santo cielo! How often must I say that I have no intention of raping you.’ he grated in her ear. ‘You shouted out in your sleep. Began to scream. You’ve had a nightmare, Miranda. Now calm down. I don’t want Carlo disturbed. I know you have a sitting room between here and my bedroom but you were yelling fit to wake the dead!’

Her enormous sapphire eyes stared up at his icily angry face as she came to full consciousness. Yes. It had been that awful recurring dream again. Her tense body went limp and he removed his hand.

In misery, she squeezed her eyes tight shut. Would she never be free of her nightmare? It came relentlessly night after night and she almost feared going to sleep, knowing that some time she would wake as she had now, bathed in sweat and shaking with a terror of something unknown.

‘Cover yourself up,’ he said curtly and in the dim light she saw to her embarrassment that one sleepy-nippled breast had escaped from her low-cut black satin nightdress.

As she scrambled to draw the covers up to her chin, she shivered, the perspiration cooling on her heated skin.

‘I’m so cold!’

The grim-faced Dante turned away and strode to the door. ‘I’ll get you a brandy.’

‘Don’t leave me!’ she cried desperately before she could stop herself.

He stopped dead, his back still to her, fists clenched at his sides. Spoke in a low and husky tone.

‘What is it, Miranda? You never used to have dreams like this.’ He jerked his head around to look at her. ‘Have you been involved in something dark and unpleasant—or with someone who’s taken you to depths you wish you’d never known?’

‘No! Nothing like that!’ she whispered, still in shock from the experience.

‘Something must have caused this! You were frantic. Hysterical.’ His eyes went cold and hard and his voice shook with fury. ‘This is what comes of living dangerously! Inviting God knows who back to our home—’

‘No—!’

‘Drinking, taking drugs—’

‘No—!’

‘And not knowing what the hell happened next!’ he grated, his mouth twisted in disgust. ‘How could you put our son at risk—?’

‘I didn’t! I didn’t!’ she cried piteously. ‘I wouldn’t, honestly, not in a million years—!’

‘You’ve no idea what you did!’ he fumed. ‘And I don’t know how many times it had happened before. I can’t believe you could be so stupid, so irresponsible—’

‘I wasn’t!’ she moaned, her hands covering her face.

His accusations were making her feel worse. She fought to control the waves of nausea as they rolled through her gut and rose to her throat. But she couldn’t defend herself any more because she was unable to speak or to stop the violent shaking. Her teeth chattered and the lines of his mouth flattened out with irritation.

‘Maledizione!’ he muttered.

And in a moment she was being encircled by warm, comforting arms. Held to a naked chest in which a heart beat with such force that it sounded like a rapid drumbeat. The faint rasp of stubble on Dante’s jaw settled firmly against her cheek and he was murmuring soothing words in Italian as if she were a frightened child.

She gave in to her needs. Put her arms around his neck and crushed him hard against her.

‘Please,’ she whispered helplessly. ‘Stay with me!’

Dante groaned. She took his face in her hands to plead with him and found her mouth opening invitingly, her eyes lowering drowsily as she contemplated the incredibly sensual arch of his lips.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, seething with barely controlled anger. With almost indecent haste he pulled away. ‘I won’t go far. I’ll get you some water instead,’ he snapped curtly, standing up and striding to the bathroom. ‘And a towel to wipe your face. You’ll feel better then.’

He continued to talk even when she couldn’t see him, his tones losing their rasping quality and becoming more matter-of-fact as if she were a fractious child to be soothed.

‘…and then we can both get some sleep,’ he was saying in a nannying tone when he re-emerged. ‘Here.’

He thrust a hand towel at her and she obediently used it to wipe the beads of perspiration that had broken out all over her face and throat. But her hand shook too much to hold the glass of water. Dante held it to her lips and frowned as she took small, nervous sips.