The Italian's Summer Seduction. Karen Van Der ZeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
stabbing notes into the margins of the closely typed pages.
She looked quickly away, her heart fluttering as a strange sensation gathered in the pit of her stomach. Jilly and the Italian had been lovers.
So why had that announcement really shocked her? Her sister had had affairs before.
‘Things’ she’d called them. ‘I’m having this thing with—whoever.’ None of them had lasted longer than a month or two. Jilly had always been restless, easily bored.
Had it been different this time? Had Jilly fallen in love with the savagely handsome Italian? Milly, her cheeks growing greatly overheated, could easily understand that. He was drop-dead-gorgeous, magnetic. Even she, on the receiving end of his icy menace, could recognise that. In the role of sexy seducer he would be dynamite! Totally irresistible!
Had her sister believed Saracino loved her in return? Had she expected marriage? Been sublimely confident of it? That would explain the wild promise that if she played her cards right she would be able to pay Ma back with interest. Everything about him spoke of wealth and standing and it would explain why the lively, flamboyant Jilly had uncharacteristically taken the post of humble companion to an old lady. Just to be near the man she loved and hoped to marry, to be available.
And had she left secretly, nursing a broken heart, when she’d discovered that marrying her was the last thing on his mind?
She wouldn’t know for sure until she found her twin. But the scenario seemed likely given the information on that final postcard from Florence and what she knew of the callous yet handsome man at her side.
Hating to think of her sister in trouble—hounded by this cold-hearted devil because of some mistake—and hurting because he’d broken her heart she gritted her teeth and vowed to find Jilly and clear her name. Her twin had always looked out for her, had taken her part when they’d been growing up.
She was more determined than ever to repay that debt.
Milly woke when he prodded her. ‘Fasten your seat belt; we’re about to land.’
Hating his tone, contempt tinged with searing impatience, she groggily complied. She hadn’t thought she’d ever sleep again, at least not in his spiky company, but last night’s deprivation had caught up with her. Smothering yawns, she felt at a total disadvantage while she followed where he led and it wasn’t until they were well away from Pisa airport and driving along the labyrinthine white Tuscan lanes that he spoke to her, although she had much to her discomfit, been on the receiving end of quite a few penetrating sideways glances she’d felt rather than actually met.
‘For some reason Nonna thinks the sun shines out of you,’ he imparted drily. ‘Since your disappearance she has been fretting. You will do and say nothing to upset her. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
Again that swift censorious sideways glance. ‘Don’t slouch! You look as though you’re being driven to the gallows! You should be thanking the patron saint of sinners that you’ve got off so lightly.’ His voice tightened. ‘If it weren’t for Nonna’s fondness for you then, believe me, you’d be in handcuffs right now!’
Milly dragged in a deep, shuddering breath. How she stopped herself from reaching over and strangling the hateful man she would never know! A scarlet flush of rage flooded her delicate features. If Jilly were in her place, the object of his withering contempt, she would fall out of love with him faster than she could draw breath.
She couldn’t trust herself to answer his scathing comments without giving the game away but, mindful of his scornful criticism, she sat up straighter.
In any other circumstances she would be enjoying riding in this open-topped racy sports car through the sun-soaked Tuscan scenery, through the patchwork landscape of vineyards and stately avenues of cypresses, orchards of lemon trees and distant craggy outcrops of rock.
As it was she was getting more wound up and edgy with every mile that passed and when a bend in the narrow road revealed a paved driveway flanked by elegant wrought iron gates and the imposing stone villa beyond she felt as if she were about to splinter with tension.
Would she make it through the acid test, her meeting with Saracino’s grandmother, without giving herself away? Back in England she had told herself that her identical physical appearance, the wearing of her twin’s clothes, was all she needed to stop the Italian searching for the real Jilly and having her charged with fraud and goodness only knew what else. But here the possible pitfalls loomed very large indeed.
Telling herself to watch her step at all times, she exited the car as the grim faced Italian pulled to a halt in front of the massive iron-studded open double doors and watched as he handed the car keys to a wiry little man who had appeared out of nowhere then turned to her.
‘Stefano will take your cases to your room. Wait in the hall while I go to prepare Nonna for your return.’
No way!
Outwardly compliant, Milly preceded him into the coolness of the marble paved reception hall, then watched as Saracino, handsome as all-get-out in the superbly styled light grey suit that drew attention to his broad back, narrow hips and long, elegantly strong legs, walked purposefully towards one of the gleaming, intricately carved doors that led off this huge space.
Then she dragged in a deep breath and scampered after Stefano as he mounted the sweeping staircase, congratulating herself on disregarding the boss’s orders and discovering where Jilly’s room was and avoiding the ignominy of pretending a short-term memory loss and having to confess to forgetting which room was hers!
Concentrating hard, she followed Stefano as he turned left where the magnificent staircase branched, down a panelled corridor hung with portraits and landscapes in heavy gilded frames, counting doors to left and right.
First hurdle over! It was the only positive thought she’d had since leaving England when Stefano opened the third door on the right. Smartly suppressing the instinctive cry of delight, she entered the room that had been supposedly hers for the last few months, the most beautiful room she had ever seen with its soft ivory-coloured carpet, panelled walls colour-washed in the same shade, gleaming antique furniture and the most opulent tester bed she had ever laid eyes on, layers of white lace topped by a satin quilt in a lovely shade of dusky rose, the whole enclosed with gauzy drapes. Not to mention the magnificent vaulted wooden ceiling, painted with swags of flowers, cherubs and exotic birds.
Placing her luggage on the low chest at the foot of the bed, Stefano said in passable English, ‘Not to use the smart valigia the Signora buy for you?’
As his glance rested on the old holdall and shamefully battered suitcase into which she had stuffed Jilly’s lovely clothes she understood his meaning, found a smile and invented rapidly, ‘I didn’t want it to get scuffed; I wanted it to stay smart.’
Which earned her a beam of approval and the self-congratulatory thought that so far she was doing just fine. Which lasted precisely five seconds, the time it took for Stefano to exit and for her to realise that she was facing her reflection in a full length pier glass.
Staring at herself, she simply couldn’t believe Saracino hadn’t seen through the deception! True, feature for feature, she and Jilly were identical, but where her twin walked and held herself with sublime confidence, she drooped!
Hastily hauling her shoulders back, she pushed her fringe out of her eyes. Eyes innocent of any artifice. Unfortunately Jilly hadn’t left any of her cosmetics behind, just the clothes she’d worn a couple of times and grown tired of. So Milly had had to do the best she could with her usual moisturiser and rarely used rosepink lipstick. Totally different from the trade mark scarlet pout, heavily darkened lashes and expertly applied foundation, eye shadow and blusher.
No wonder Saracino had made that scathing remark about toning down her act!
She was going to have to try harder! Make herself act, walk and talk like her sister, because if she didn’t then sooner or later—probably sooner—she would be rumbled. The thought terrified