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.
hair round his neck and found his collar. As she released the clip Caio made a sound between a bark and a whimper, and was gone, making for the open space of the garden beyond the courtyard. And after that, presumably, the world.
‘Oh, God,’ Laura muttered, jumping to her feet and running after him, stumbling a little over the hem of her robe.
What the hell would she do if she couldn’t find him? And what was she going to say to the Signora, anyway? She’d be accused of interfering, which was true, and coming back with a counter-accusation of animal negligence, however justified, wouldn’t remedy the situation.
She had no idea how extensive the villa’s grounds were, or if they were even secure. Supposing he got out onto the mountain itself, and a wolf found him before she could?
This is what happens when you try to be a canine Samaritan, she thought breathlessly as she reached the courtyard entrance, only to find herself almost cannoning into Alessio, who was approaching from the opposite direction with a squirming Caio tucked firmly under his arm.
‘Oh, you found him,’ she exclaimed. ‘Thank heaven for that.’
‘I almost fell over him,’ he told her tersely. ‘Where has he come from?’
‘He was tied to the bench over there. I was trying to make him more comfortable, and he just—took off. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to find him.’
‘He was out here—in this heat?’ Alessio’s tone was incredulous, with the beginnings of anger. He glanced at the bench. ‘At least he had water.’ He looked at Laura again, more closely. ‘Or did he?’
She sighed. ‘Well, he has now, and that’s what matters.’ She was suddenly searingly conscious of the fact that she was wearing nothing but a thin robe, and that her damp hair was hanging on her shoulders. ‘I—I’ll leave him with you, shall I?’ she added, beginning to back away.
‘One moment,’ he said. ‘What made you come out here at this time?’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d wash my hair, and dry it in the sun.’ She forced a smile. ‘As you see.’
His brows lifted. ‘A rather primitive solution, don’t you think? Why didn’t you ring the bell for Emilia? She would have found you an electric dryer.’
‘I felt she had enough on her plate without running around after me. And it is siesta time, after all.’ She paused. ‘So, why are you here, come to that?’
‘I could not sleep either.’ He glanced down at Caio, who returned him a baleful look. ‘Under the circumstances, that was fortunate.’
‘Just in time to spoil his bid for freedom, poor little mutt.’ She offered the dog her hand again, and found her fingers being licked by his small rough tongue.
‘You seem to have made a friend, bella mia.’ Alessio sounded amused. ‘My aunt will have another reason for jealousy.’ He scratched the top of Caio’s head. ‘And I thought the whole world was his enemy.’
‘He’ll think so too, if we tie him up to that bench again,’ Laura said ruefully.
‘Then we will not do so. I will put him in my aunt’s room instead, with his water. His basket is there, anyway, and he will be cooler,’ he added, frowning. ‘I cannot imagine why she would leave him anywhere else.’ He sighed. ‘Another topic for discussion that will displease her.’
‘Another?’
‘I have yet to raise the subject of your visit to Paolo.’
‘Oh, please,’ Laura said awkwardly. ‘I’ve been thinking about that, and maybe I shouldn’t persist. If she’s so adamant, it will only cause problems.’
He said gently, ‘But that is nonsense, Laura mia. Of course you must see your lover. Your visit can do nothing but good, I am sure.’ His gaze travelled over her, from the high, frilled neck of her robe, down to her bare insteps, and she felt every inch of concealed skin tingle under his lingering regard. Felt an odd heat burgeoning inside her, which had nothing to do with the warmth of the day.
He smiled at her. ‘And I will ask Emilia to bring you the hairdryer,’ he added softly, then turned away.
Laura regained the sanctuary of her room, aware that her breathing had quickened out of all proportion.
She closed the shutters behind her, then, on impulse, decided to fasten the small iron bar that locked them. It had clearly not been used for some time because it resisted, finally falling into place with a bang that resounded in the quiet of the afternoon like a pistol shot.
She could only hope Alessio hadn’t heard it, because he’d be bound to put two and two together. And the last thing she needed was for him to think that he made her nervous in any way.
Because she had nothing to fear from him, and she was flattering herself to think otherwise.
Someone like Alessio Ramontella would live on a diet of film stars and heiresses, she told herself, pushing her damp hair back from her face with despondent fingers. And if he’s kind to me, it’s because he recognises I’m out of my depth, and feels sorry for me.
And as long as I remember that, I’m in no danger. No danger at all.
Her reunion with the dying Paolo was scheduled to take place before dinner. A note signed ‘Ramontella’ informing her of the arrangement had been brought to her by Emilia, along with the promised hair-dryer.
He’d certainly wasted no time over the matter, Laura thought as she followed Guillermo over to the other side of the villa. All she had to do now was pretend to be suitably eager.
She’d dressed for the occasion, putting on her other decent dress, a slim fitting blue shift, sleeveless and scoop-necked. Trying to upgrade it with a handful of silver chains and a matching bracelet.
She’d painted her fingernails and toenails a soft coral, and used a toning lustre on her mouth, emphasising her grey eyes with shadow and kohl.
The kind of effort a girl would make for her lover, she hoped.
She found herself in a long passageway, looking out onto yet another courtyard. The fountain here was larger, she saw, pausing, and a much more elaborate affair, crowned by the statue of a woman crafted in marble. She stood on tiptoe, as if about to take flight, hair and scanty draperies flying behind her, and a bow in her hand, gazing out across the tumbling water that fell from the rock at her feet.
‘The goddess Diana for whom the villa is named, signorina,’ Guillermo, who had halted too, told her in his halting English. ‘Very beautiful, si?’
‘Very,’ Laura agreed with less than total certainty as she studied the remote, almost inhuman face. The virgin huntress, she thought, who unleashed her hounds on any man unwise enough to look at her, and who had the cold moon as her symbol.
And not the obvious choice of deity for someone as overtly warm-blooded as Alessio Ramontella. Her dogs would have torn him to pieces on sight.
She looked down the passage to the tall double doors at the end. ‘Is that Signor Paolo’s room?’
‘But no, signorina.’ He sounded almost shocked. ‘That is the suite of His Excellency. The signore, his cousin, is here.’ He turned briskly to the left, down another much shorter corridor, and halted, knocking at a door.
It was flung open immediately, and the Signora swept out, her eyes raking Laura with an expression of pure malevolence.
‘You may have ten minutes,’ she snapped. ‘No more. My son needs rest.’
What does she think? Laura asked herself ironically as she entered. That I’m planning to jump his bones?
The shutters were closed and the drapes were drawn too, so the room, which smelled strongly of something like camphorated oil, was lit only by a lamp at the side of the bed.
Paolo