In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby. Catherine SpencerЧитать онлайн книгу.
in his company for only a few hours, and already her awareness of him was threatening to spin out of control.
For God’s sake, grow up, she told herself wearily, giving the pillows a thump.
Yes, there’d been times when the courtesy she knew he’d have shown to any guest under his roof had seemed to slip into kindness, but that could have been an attempt to make amends for his aunt’s unfailing rudeness. And she’d be fooling herself if she thought otherwise, even for a moment.
The Arleschi Bank was considered a model of its kind, keenly efficient, highly respected, and superbly profitable, which was why Harman Grace were so keen to represent it. And it was clear that the bank’s chairman played a key role in its achievements.
Count Alessio Ramontella lived in the full radiance of the sun, Laura thought, whereas she occupied some small, cold planet on the outmost edge of the solar system. That was the way it was, and always would be. And it was her bad luck that their paths had ever been forced to cross.
She closed her eyes against the memory of his smile, its sudden brilliance turning the rather ruthless lines of his mouth to charm and humour. She tried to forget, too, the warmth of that swift brush of his lips on her hand, and the way even that most fleeting of touches had pierced her to the bone.
It occurred to her that if Steve’s kisses had carried even a fraction of the same shattering charge, he’d probably have been a happy man at this very moment, and Paolo would have had to look elsewhere for a partner in his scam.
I really need to get away from here, she told herself, moving restlessly, feeling the fine linen sheet that covered her grazing her skin as if it were raw. And soon.
It could be managed, of course, and quite easily. Paolo could pretend to take her on the visit to Tuscany they’d originally planned. Once they were alone, who would ever know if she slipped away and took an early flight back to London? And as long as Paolo kept a low profile, he could spend his vacation time exactly as he wished.
It wasn’t what she wanted—it saddened her that she wouldn’t see Florence or any of the region’s other proud cities—but it was clear that she could no longer trust Paolo. And it was a way of dealing with a problem that was threatening to snowball into a crisis, entirely through her own stupidity.
Not that she could ever tell Paolo that. This was another truth that would have to be suppressed.
And he never wanted to come here in the first place, she thought. So he can hardly complain if I say I want to leave.
She turned over, burying her face determinedly in the pillow. And if her sleep was haunted by dreams, they did not linger to be remembered in the morning.
The determination, however, persisted, stronger than ever, and Laura sang softly to herself as she showered and dressed in a blue denim skirt and a sleeveless white top.
It was another glorious day, with the sun already burning off the faint haze around the tops of the hills. Probably her last day in Italy, she thought, and she would make the most of every minute.
She and Paolo would sort everything on the trip to Assisi, and by tomorrow they could be out of here, and life could return to normal again.
She would even learn to laugh about the last couple of days. Make a good story out of the Signora. Tell Gaynor, ‘Hey, I met a man who was the ultimate sex on a stick, and fabulously wealthy too.’ Let it all sound like fun, without a moment of self-doubt, she thought as she brushed her hair.
She had taken careful note of the route to the main part of the house the previous night, and found the dining room without difficulty, only to discover that it was deserted with no sign of food.
They eat dinner late, maybe breakfast is the same, she thought, slightly nonplussed. As she was wandering back into the entrance hall she was swooped on by Emilia, who led her firmly into the salotto and indicated that she should go out onto the terrace.
She emerged cautiously and paused in dismay, because Alessio was there alone, seated at the table, which was now covered by a white cloth. A few feet away, in the shade, a large trolley was stationed, and she saw that it held a platter with ham on the bone, together with a dish of cheese, a basket of bread rolls and a bowl of fruit. A pot of coffee was keeping warm on a heater.
‘Buon giorno.’ He had seen her, and, putting down the newspaper he was reading, rose to his feet, depriving her of the chance to retreat back into the villa. ‘You rested well?’
‘Yes—thank you.’ Reluctantly, she took the seat he indicated and unfolded her napkin, glancing at the table. ‘Only two places?’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Where are the others?’
‘They are breakfasting in their rooms,’ Alessio told her. ‘My aunt, because she prefers it. Paolo, because he is too ill to leave his bed,’ he added sardonically.
‘Too ill?’ Laura echoed, taking the glass of chilled peach juice he’d poured for her. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘His cold. It has become infinitely worse. His mother is most concerned. Every lemon we possess is being squeezed to make drinks for him, and she has commandeered every painkiller in the house.’
‘Oh.’ Laura digested this, her dismay deepening by the second. She had not bargained for this development. She said, ‘Perhaps I’d better go to him, too. See how he is, and if I can help.’
‘A word of advice, bella mia,’ Alessio said lazily. ‘A wolf, a bear and my aunt Lucrezia—never come between any of them and their cubs. So, stay where you are, and eat. You will be much safer, I promise you.’
He got to his feet, lithe in cream denim trousers and a black polo shirt, and went to the trolley. ‘May I bring you some of this excellent ham?’
‘Thank you.’ She watched him carve several slices off the bone with deft precision. As he placed the plate in front of her she said, ‘Maybe he’ll feel better later on, and be able to get up. We’re supposed to be going to Assisi.’
‘Paolo will be going nowhere for the foreseeable future,’ Alessio said calmly. ‘Unless his mother insists on my summoning a helicopter to take him to the nearest hospital, of course.’
‘He has a cold in the head.’ Laura’s mouth tightened. ‘It’s hardly terminal.’
‘It would be inadvisable to say so in front of Zia Lucrezia.’ Alessio ate a forkful of ham. ‘Not that we will see much of her either,’ he added meditatively. ‘Her time will be taken up with nursing the invalid, smoothing his pillow, reading aloud to him, and bullying my poor Emilia into creating little delicacies to tempt his failing appetite.’
Laura finished her peach juice, and set down the glass. She said slowly, ‘You’re really serious about this.’
‘No, but my aunt is. However,’ he added silkily, ‘I gather that, with rest and quiet, the prognosis is generally favourable.’
In spite of her private concerns, Laura found herself laughing. ‘It’s just so absurd. All this fuss about a cold.’
‘Ah, but it is the areas of fuss that matter in marriage, I am told,’ Alessio said blandly. ‘It is best to discover what they are before the ceremony, and you have now been given a valuable insight into Paolo’s concerns about his health.’
He watched with interest as Laura began to cut her ham into small, careful squares.
‘You plan to marry my cousin, of course?’ he added after a pause.
Her eyes flew warily to his face. ‘I—I think…I mean—there’s nothing formal. Not yet.’
‘But you are travelling with him in order to meet his family. And last night it seemed certain,’ he said. ‘For the Vicentes, as for the Ramontellas, the giving of a ring—particularly an heirloom—is a serious thing. A declaration of irrevocable intent. One man, one woman bound in love for the rest of their lives.’
‘Oh.’