At Her Latin Lover's Command: The Italian Count's Command / The French Count's Mistress / At the Spanish Duke's Command

‘And need to be with them,’ he agreed. ‘I had my doubts about putting him in the school when Sonniva suggested it, but she was right. It took his mind off you and he was able to enjoy himself with children of his own age.’

‘I’m glad he’s settled so well,’ she said softly. ‘He’ll have a good life here.’

Her eyes shone. Carlo was happy. She glanced at Dante’s face and saw how strained he looked. The urge to reach out and take his arm, to snuggle into him and cheer him up, was overwhelming. But she didn’t do that kind of thing.

Or hadn’t. Had that been the problem? He’d criticised her for being an ice queen with a harlot’s heart. Told her that he never knew what she was thinking until they were in bed and making love—and even then he’d always wondered if it had been pure bodily gratification on her part.

Her shocked protests had washed over him. He claimed he didn’t know her and, while her reticence had impressed him when she was his secretary, he hadn’t expected it to continue when they were married.

But all her life she’d hidden her feelings—and the cause of them. It had been the only way to survive the hurt when she was eleven and her beloved father had disappeared for ever. And it had stood her in good stead when her mother had screamed at her that it was her fault because having kids meant you couldn’t go out at the drop of a hat with your husband.

Miranda had also hidden the resentment she’d secretly felt within days of her father’s disappearance, when she’d become the prime carer for her little sister so that her mother could have some kind of a life. Miranda thought of the invitations out to parties she had refused and, later, the dates she had turned down. It had been hard, staying at home and watching her mother getting ready to go out on the town instead.

Worse, it had been difficult to cope with the fact that Lizzie had always been the favourite. Miranda had never been loved like the ebullient Lizzie, or allowed the same freedom.

But she knew that resenting your mother and sister, or feeling angry and sorry for yourself, was wrong. Consequently she had told no one of this, determined not to play the victim. And so she had learnt to remain composed and silent, despite the volcanic emotions simmering within her.

Desperate needs…desperate measures. Why not, for once, behave as she wished—as she really felt? In the secret depths of her heart she was spontaneous and loving. Maybe she should abandon the habit of a lifetime and wear that heart on her sleeve. Wryly she looked at her arm. Looked then at Dante’s.

On an impulse, she slid her arm through his and smiled up at him, her breath high in her throat as she waited nervously for his rejection. Instead, he gave her a tight little smile in return and lifted his eyebrow in a query.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ she said in barely concealed delight.

‘For providing you with a luxury lifestyle?’ he asked cynically.

Taking a deep breath and determined not to be rattled, she persevered.

‘No. For being so kind to Lizzie. I managed to speak to her before she left. She was thrilled with your suggestion that you could lend her your car and Luca, to enable her to shop in Milan at your expense.’ Her eyes danced. ‘It was very clever of you, too. I don’t think she even noticed that you’d got her on the evening flight, even though she’d been angling to stay for a week!’

For that, she had a genuine smile from him, Dante’s eyes softening into what seemed like melted chocolate. Her heart beat faster and her pulse rate increased.

‘Carlo told me he was going to paint you a picture today,’ Dante murmured.

‘Oh, really?’ She beamed in delight. ‘I can’t wait!’

‘You mean that!’ He stared at her in surprise.

‘Of course I do.’ She fixed him with an earnest stare, her eyes huge with love for them both. ‘Use your eyes, Dante. Trust your intuition. Would he love me so deeply if I hadn’t loved him? If every small detail of his life wasn’t of the utmost importance to me? I’m thrilled at the thought of having one of his pictures.’ She smiled, encouraged by the softening of Dante’s expression. ‘I hope I can recognise what it is, though!’

To her delight, he gave a warm laugh. ‘After holding his first painting and saying it was a lovely apple—then being told it was a train and it was upside down—I’m very wary of making any detailed comment!’

She giggled, a little wistful that she hadn’t been there to see Carlo’s first picture from nursery school. It was a silly little thing, but to her it was a huge step in her son’s life, like that first word, the first step, and the first pair of shoes.

But Dante had missed those particular moments in his frantic travelling and she couldn’t begrudge him this one. She knew now that he loved Carlo as much as she did.

Their son was the vital link between them—and could, perhaps, bring them together. Whenever either of them talked about him, it was with besotted smiles on their faces. She felt sure that Dante was beginning to realise the part she played in Carlo’s happiness. More importantly, Dante must see now that she loved her child deeply. Maybe soon he’d question the rumours he’d heard about her.

She took a deep breath. Her marriage was worth saving. She’d fight for it with all her might.

Her spirits rose, and as she looked about her with more confidence, she realised they weren’t retracing their steps to the palazzo. Earlier, they had walked with Carlo to the nursery along the improbably named Salita Cappuccini, climbing steep cobbled steps to the top of the hill. Now they were heading down an equally steep set of cobbled steps lined with small boutiques.

‘I’m intrigued. Is this a silent mystery tour?’ she asked with a laugh.

Dante looked a little sheepish. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about something. I was miles away. No, it occurred to me that until we can get your clothes from England, you’ll need one or two things to tide you over. I thought you’d like to do a bit of shopping. And perhaps get your bearings in Bellagio town itself.’

‘That’s very thoughtful!’ she exclaimed gratefully. ‘I was wondering how I could make these clothes last before I was thrown out of Italy for vagrancy.’

His grin flashed and she felt as if she’d drunk heady wine.

‘You would never look a mess,’ he assured her drily.

And then he was greeting acquaintances as they made their way down the hill, drawing her closer as he did so.

Instead of making her happier, this set alarm bells ringing. It dawned on her that his apparent friendliness could be just part of his request that they should keep up appearances. Her joy died.

‘You’ll need some casual clothes and a bathing costume. Perhaps something for the evening,’ he told her. ‘And this is just the place to buy everything.’

Not even noticing how subdued she’d become, he swept her into an elegant boutique and settled himself in an armchair, leaving her to the attentions of a beautiful young female assistant.

Miranda went through the mechanics of choosing stopgap clothes and shoes without much enthusiasm and then began to try on some demure one-piece swimsuits.

She heard him laugh long and hard in a way she hadn’t heard for a long time. Through a gap in the curtain she could see Dante still chuckling over something the young woman had said. The assistant was leaning over him—probably swamping him with perfume, Miranda thought waspishly—and offering him a cappuccino.

Feeling sick with jealousy, she glared at herself in the boring swimsuit. She ought to be bolder. More risqué. Every instinct told her to fight for her man with fair means or foul.

And before she could get cold feet, she grabbed a cotton robe from a hook and tied it around herself. Unnoticed by Dante, who was now surrounded by enthusiastically chattering female assistants, she padded over to the rack of bikinis and grimly selected a turquoise one to take back to the booth.

When she tried it on, she saw that it looked fabulous. Her stomach was very flat but her breasts and hips still held their womanly curves. If he saw this…

No. She dared not. Such behaviour was too outrageous. And yet… This was for her marriage. Desperate measures… For the family she loved.

Taking a deep breath to quell her nerves, she pulled back a tiny part of the curtain so that only her head poked around it.

‘Darling!’ she called as seductively as she dared. The encircling women looked around and he stood up, surprise etched in every line of his face. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘I’d like your opinion.’

‘My pleasure. Permesso,’ he murmured to the women and found a way through them.

Miranda drew back into the confines of the deep changing booth, trying to look utterly natural even though she was shaking like a leaf.

Dante’s hand eased back the curtain enough to allow him in. And then he seemed to freeze. The curtain swung back into place. His eyes raked her hungrily.

‘What do you think?’ she asked in a throaty kind of voice. And she lost her nerve. ‘Or perhaps this one would be better…’

Bending down in confusion, she picked up the one-piece, becoming awkwardly aware that her breasts had fallen forwards invitingly and that her loosened hair now tumbled luxuriously about her pink face.

‘Both,’ he said hoarsely. ‘One for public, one for…’

His reaction was so startling that she took a risk she would never have dreamed of taking if her marriage and her child were not threatened.

Stepping closer so they were almost touching, so that the fire in his body heated her skin even from an inch or two away, she lifted her head and finished the sentence for him.

‘One for you and you alone?’ she whispered daringly, with soft longing.

He gave an inarticulate mutter. His hands caught her slender waist and he pulled her into him. Their mouths met in a sweet, exploring kiss, which became harder, harsher, more urgent.

In a delirium, she held his face between her palms, adoring the smoothness of his skin, the wonderful pleasure of his lips on hers, the smell of him, the fresh taste of his mouth, the skill of his kisses as he slowly drove her back against the wall.

His hand was cupping her breast and she groaned because it had been so long since he’d done that. The feel of his fingers as they teased her nipple into a fiercely thrusting peak was driving her mad. And then his head dipped and she felt the warm wetness of his mouth there.

Through half-opened eyes she saw him suckling at her breast and her breath caught in a spasm of love as she looked down at his enraptured face. His eyes were closed, the silky fringe of black lashes a dark crescent on his cheekbones.

‘Oh, Dante!’ she breathed.

He stiffened and detached himself. When he gazed down at her languorous face, there was nothing in his expression to reveal how he felt—except for the burning of his dark eyes.

‘I’ll be outside,’ he said thickly. And left before she could reply.

She reached out to the chair in the booth and all but fell onto it, her legs quite weak. Her reflection startled her. She looked as if she’d been ravished and had enjoyed every minute.

Starry-eyed, she hastily dressed, convinced now that they would make love quite soon. And that a closeness would slowly develop between them. He couldn’t keep his hands off her! she exulted.

‘They’re delivering the things I bought,’ she announced breathlessly to him when she joined his brooding figure outside the shop. ‘I had some funny looks from the assistants, though,’ she added, her face pink with embarrassment.

‘Good. It was a clever idea of yours,’ he said quite casually.

She blinked. ‘What was?’

‘Hauling me into the changing booth,’ he drawled. ‘Word will get out that we’re crazy about one another and that we take any opportunity to touch. Take my arm. Let’s continue the deception, shall we, while I show you around Bellagio?’

Miranda tagged along the quaint, narrow streets beside him, her head whirling. Had he kissed her because he’d found her irresistible, or because he’d seen a chance to pretend they had a normal marriage? And how would she ever know? she thought with exasperation.

‘The lake is shaped like an upside-down Y. Bellagio sits where the three arms of Lake Como meet,’ Dante was telling her in jerky, polite tones as they sauntered down the street, their arms romantically entwined.

His head bent to hers attentively. If she didn’t know better, she thought bitterly, she’d think they were similar to the many lovers she could see gazing into one another’s eyes. Only Dante’s travel-guide delivery made her think differently.

‘It’s generally accepted to be one of the loveliest spots in Italy,’ he continued.

An elderly couple smiled fondly at them, clearly imagining Dante to be whispering sweet nothings instead of spouting the contents of a brochure.

‘Really?’ she said but he didn’t appear to notice her sadness.

‘Certo,’ he assured her in a low growl. He was hating this, she thought. Loathing their closeness. ‘As you can see, it is unspoiled and picturesque, despite the visitors who flock here.’

They walked along an arcaded piazza and while he was murmuring textbook details about Roman cohorts coming to Como for rest and recuperation two thousand years ago she was trying to distance herself from her reaction to his inherently seductive voice and gestures so that she could think of a way to discover his true feelings about her.

If he hated her, she could work on that by proving her innocence—somehow. Given time she could turn lust into love, perhaps. But if he was truly indifferent…

‘Nero came here. Da Vinci, Verdi, Rossini, Liszt, Wordsworth, Shelley… They found it inspired creativity—’

‘OK. That’s enough. You’ve sold it to me,’ she said, uncomfortable with his detachment.

‘What?’

‘I can read the guide books later,’ she muttered.

‘We’re here to be seen and for people to notice us and comment on our manner together,’ he told her tightly. ‘It would look odd if we walked in icy silence.’

‘We could talk about things that matter to us,’ she suggested quietly.

‘And risk a row? It would be preferable to thrash out our differences in private. Ah,’ he said, sounding relieved to have the chance of a diversion. ‘Here’s where the ferryboats leave. Something you need to know. I do have a private motor launch moored below the palazzo,’ he told her, ‘but Carlo loves the public boats because they serve drinks and food. In any case, you’d need the car ferry—which leaves further up there—’ he waved a vague hand to their left ‘—if you want to explore the opposite shores comprehensively.’

Private. Public. Yes, she thought in sudden inspiration. She would get Dante into a private situation and see how he responded to her when nobody was around as a witness.

Cheered, she considered his last remark. ‘I don’t have a car,’ she pointed out.

‘Not yet. As my wife and Carlo’s mother, you can have anything you want, remember? It’s one of the prices I am prepared to pay. I give, you take.’

She only lacked one thing she desired. Dante’s love.

‘A small car would be great,’ she said cautiously. ‘But I don’t like being beholden to you for money. That’s why I wanted to work and be independent.’

‘Then I will give you an allowance and you can spend it as you wish.’ To her surprise he bent closer, his mouth nuzzling her ear. ‘Cars, jewellery, dresses, sexy underwear…’

She quivered, rivulets of heat flowing through her at the husky suggestion in his voice. ‘You’d like me to buy—!’ she began with a breathless hope, and then he broke away.

‘Felipe! Maria!’ he exclaimed, warmly triple-kissing a dark-haired woman and hugging her companion with affection. ‘Allow me to present my wife, Miranda. Darling, these are my good friends Felipe and Maria, who looked after my uncle’s palazzo when he was away.’

With a sinking heart, she summoned up a smile. Dante must have seen them coming. That was why he’d murmured something seductive to get a suitable reaction from her.

His friends would have seen the blush that had crept up her face, the lift of her head as she’d gazed adoringly into Dante’s eyes… Oh, how could she have been so stupid?

‘How do you do—?’ she began politely, swallowing her disappointment.

‘Piacere, Contessa!’

Felipe bowed low and air-kissed her hand. But his eyes twinkled back at her and she decided she liked him enough to make her own smile genuine.

‘Welcome,’ enthused Maria, kissing her several times. ‘You are as beautiful as Dante claimed. No wonder he was lost without you! He was a different person when he knew you were well enough to return.’

‘Was he?’

Miranda’s heart stopped for a brief moment before resuming a louder, faster beat. She longed for that to be true.

‘To begin with, when we met, we thought he was naturally grumpy,’ confided Felipe with a grin. ‘But, ah, when he knew you were on your way here the sun came out and he began to sing in the garden—’

‘Don’t give all my secrets away!’ joked Dante. But he looked uncomfortable.

Miranda was intrigued by what the couple had said. Surely Dante’s marked change of mood couldn’t be explained purely by a relief that Carlo would be more settled? Or was she trying to fool herself?

‘…meet for dinner,’ Maria was saying. ‘But we are late for the Rapido to Como. Excuse us. We will talk more later, yes?’

After a welter of kisses and farewells, they hurried off.

‘Did you sing?’ she asked at once.

He shrugged and seemed shifty. ‘I might have done. Often I’ll have the refrain of a tune in my head and I sing when I’m alone.’

‘You weren’t alone,’ she pointed out. ‘Felipe heard you.’

‘He might have done,’ he conceded. ‘You must understand, though, that in accordance with Italian custom, Felipe exaggerates,’ Dante added shortly. ‘He was being gallant. Telling you what you want to hear.’

‘Is that what you do, Dante? What you’ve done throughout our marriage?’ she asked tensely.

‘No. I have lived so long in England that I’ve lost the art of effusive flattery. I say what I mean, though perhaps not quite so bluntly as the English.’

She thought about this. ‘Felipe genuinely seemed to think you were pleased because I was on my way here,’ she persisted, hoping to get to the truth.

‘I’m sure he and Maria were subjected to conversations with my mother, in which she enthused over my feelings for you,’ he drawled. ‘He would have assumed that was why I appeared to be happy—whereas we know different.’

‘Your mother certainly seems convinced of your adoration,’ Miranda mused, breathing hard and fast. Sonniva, she mused, was a perceptive woman, shrewd and honest…

‘Some people have rose-tinted vision,’ he dismissed. ‘They see what they want to see. Like Felipe and Maria. But…they have been good friends to me since I arrived,’ he added and she had the distinct impression that he was keen to avoid further discussion. ‘They live in the villa not far from us,’ he explained. ‘We’ll see a lot of them, as they have a boy of Carlo’s age.’

‘Good. I like them,’ Miranda said demurely. For the moment she’d let Dante off the hook. But all her instincts told her that he was hiding something from her. She hoped it was his true feelings. ‘I look forward to meeting them again. I’m sure we could all be good friends.’

‘You seem to be accepting the fact that you’ll live here in future. No regrets, I assume?’ he asked, his expression tense.

‘None. I’ll be with Carlo, won’t I?’ And you, she left unsaid.

‘You’ll enjoy the lifestyle, of course,’ he observed, a cynical tone to his voice.

‘You’re thinking I’m looking forward to being the wife of a wealthy man and sweeping from one grand palace to another. But that wouldn’t be enough for me,’ she said, determined to put him straight about her potential as a gold-digger.

‘You want more?’

‘Not in the way you think.’

He shot her a look. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No. You thought I married you for material gain,’ she said with sadness. How could he ever have believed that? ‘Dante. Was I ever extravagant? Did you see any signs of greed in me?’

He frowned, as well he might. ‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Did I know you were well off when I worked for you?’

‘You could see I had a good lifestyle,’ he grunted.

‘But not flamboyant. You went everywhere by taxi as many people do in London. Your apartment in the City was not in a fashionable area although it was spacious and expensively furnished. You dressed well, but…’ She smiled. ‘You’re Italian. It’s part of your culture. If I’d been hunting for a rich man, I’d have gone for Guido.’ She frowned, a bad taste in her mouth. Then dismissed it because her argument was so important. ‘He flung his money around as if he had bottomless pockets. He has a Maserati. Eats only in the best celebrity restaurants. Wears a lot of jewellery. Everyone in the office thought he was loaded. Why, then, if I’d been truly mercenary, would I have set my sights on you?’

‘I don’t know. I am at a loss,’ he said slowly.

She leaned into him a little. ‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘Since I was very young, my only wish has been to spend my life with someone I love. Do you believe that?’

‘I think you do care for Carlo, yes,’ he said, looking guarded.

She beamed. It wasn’t quite what she’d meant, but nevertheless it was a milestone. ‘And you accept that he wasn’t starved of love?’

Dante looked uncomfortable. ‘Perhaps my informant made a mistake.’

‘Call the nanny and find out,’ she urged. ‘I have her new number. She’ll complain that she wasn’t allowed enough time with Carlo!’

‘I have seen enough. I don’t need to. I apologise for doubting your maternal instincts,’ he said stiffly.

‘And for doubting my love for you?’ she asked, her heart beating hard.

His head jerked away, his profile suddenly stern. ‘I can’t pretend that your infidelity never happened,’ he clipped and she realised she had a long way to go before she proved her innocence to him. ‘The next week or so will be difficult for both of us. But we’ll settle into some kind of working arrangement, providing you like it enough here.’

‘Like it?’ she cried, hope lifting the burden she’d carried from her shoulders. ‘How could I not? It’s a bonus that Bellagio is so beautiful. I love the lake and the mountains and the romantic little villages. I like the friendliness of the people who smile and nod at us even though they don’t know who we are. I like to see the affection youngsters and their parents show towards older relatives. I like your friends. In fact,’ she added, glancing around her fondly, ‘I like Italians very much.’

‘I’m glad,’ Dante said drily. ‘You’d find life hard if you didn’t.’

‘Mmm. They’re wonderfully…free with their emotions, aren’t they?’ she mused.

She had been watching them for a while. Everywhere she looked, it seemed that people were gesticulating as they conducted lively exchanges. They stood close to one another as if they had no idea of personal space. And yet already she’d noticed that what initially seemed like fiery arguments often ended with laughter and hugs.

She sighed wistfully because here and there she could see courting couples gazing in rapture at one another, content, it seemed, just to breathe the same air, to be on the same planet.

‘You envy their lack of inhibition?’ Dante asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I do.’

And she vowed to allow the Italian love of free expression to seep into her. It was what he’d been used to. No wonder he’d thought her cold and unresponsive.

‘Me too.’ Dante’s brooding eyes studied his surroundings. ‘You know, I was so intent on handling the London end of the business, marrying you and setting up home there, that I didn’t realise how much I missed Italy until I came back here to live.’