‘How could he many her?’ Jeff had been genuinely amazed. ‘I mean, she doesn’t even look like the girl he once knew. He could have anyone. He doesn’t have to have damaged goods.’
‘That’s awful, Jeff.’ She had been horrified, and he had immediately covered his words with an explanation that had deceived her at the time—or maybe it hadn’t, she amended painfully. Perhaps she had just believed what she’d wanted to believe, she’d loved him so much. It had taken the accident to show her that the man she had loved had never existed in the first place.
When she walked into the drawing room some ten minutes later, her hair loose and shining like molten copper, and just the merest touch of green eyeshadow her only make-up, Romano Bellini was very still for some moments before walking from where he had been standing, looking out over the dark grounds through the full-length windows, to her side.
‘In my country it is mostly the older women who wear black,’ he said softly, ‘but perhaps it is a tradition that should change.’
‘I...thank you—at least I think it was a compliment,’ she added, with a disarming uncertainty that made him look at her for one minute more before he threw back his head and laughed—a loud, husky, almost grating laugh, a laugh that sounded as though it hadn’t been aired for a long time.
‘It was,’ he assured her solemnly as she flushed a bright, body-consuming red. ‘Indeed it was.’
Claire was aware of Grace and Donato’s interested glances from the other side of the room, where Donato was preparing cocktails, and she now felt so flustered and out of her depth that she tried to walk hastily forward, forgetting her unusually high heels, one of which entangled itself in an exquisite Persian rug and would have sent her sprawling but for Romano’s firm hand on her arm.
‘Steady, little English girl, steady.’ His voice was deep and very soft, reaching only her ears. ‘I might be the big bad wolf, capable of diverse and terrible crimes, but I am hardly likely to attempt an assault on your virtue in front of my two oldest and dearest friends, am I?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I tripped, that’s all.’ Her voice wasn’t as firm as she would have liked it to be, mainly due to the fact that he had changed from the black shirt and trousers into dinner dress, which, when combined with the midnight-blue silk shirt he was wearing and the wickedly sardonic smile, proved...overwhelming. And stunning. And devastating. She felt the warmth of his hand burning her skin and prayed for calm. This little incident alone confirmed everything she had thought upstairs. They might have come from different planets.
‘Of course you did.’ His voice was smooth now, and cold, and she felt a sudden and quite absurd disappointment that perversely brought her chin high and made her smile bright as she joined the other two.
Things were a little more comfortable once Lorenzo joined them a few minutes later. She had experienced an immediate rapport with Donato’s young brother in the summer, the gift she had with all children as strong as ever, and now they fell into easy conversation as they relived their battles before dinner, teasing each other unmercifully.
‘You have a way with children.’ As they walked through to the formal dining room at Gina’s bidding some minutes later Romano took her arm again, drawing her into his side. ‘I can see why your name has barely been off Lorenzo’s lips since the summer. He clearly adores you.’
‘He’s a nice...he’s a lovely lad,’ she said quietly, alarmed at the way such a casual touch could make her quiver. ‘He’s coped with a lot in his short life from what Grace tells me—the loss of his parents and...and his sister,’ she continued, after the briefest of pauses when she realised she wasn’t being exactly tactful in reminding him of his loss. ‘And yet he has come through it all without any bitterness or resentment and emerged as a normal and well-adjusted teenager.’
‘Donato and Grace are partly to be praised for that.’
She could smell his aftershave, and whether it was because it was wildly expensive or just that his physical chemistry suited it wonderfully well, the end result was making a sensual warmth tremble deep in her lower stomach as the faint but heady fragrance touched her senses.
‘They purposely decided to give the last two or three years to Lorenzo, to make sure he felt loved and wanted for who and what he is, before they tried for a family of their own again.’
‘Did they?’ She stopped at the door to the dining room, the others having walked ahead. ‘They are good people, aren’t they?’ she said softly as she looked up into his darkly handsome face.
‘Yes, they are. But goodness can make one frighteningly vulnerable at times.’ His voice was cold now, very cold. ‘It is a commodity that is less desirable in this present world than scepticism, I think. To disbelieve, to doubt or question, this is not a bad thing.’
‘Not in some circumstances, but you don’t mean as a general rule, do you?’ she asked, stiffening at the blatant cynicism his words had revealed.
‘That is exactly what I mean,’ he said expressionlessly, his glittering black eyes noting the indignant flush in her cheeks.
‘Well, I don’t agree with that!’ She glared at him, her eyes honey-gold in the artificial light overhead and her body language militant ‘That’s awful. That would mean you could never trust anyone, or believe in them, unless you had a signed affidavit first.’
‘A little extreme, but near enough to make no matter.’ He gestured to the room beyond with a curt nod of his head. ‘I think they are waiting...?’
The dinner table was a vision of heavy, solid silver cutlery, fine crystal glasses, exquisite linenware and a magnificent centrepiece of hot-house blooms that perfumed the air with a sweet fragrance. The room itself was grand and ornate too, and more than a little awe-inspiring, like the rest of Casa Pontina.
As the courses came and went, each one more delicious than the one before, Claire found she didn’t have to work at relaxing. Several glasses of good wine combined with Donato and Grace at their best as amusing and congenial hosts were lulling her unease. The tiring day, mostly spent travelling by plane and car, the memories of everything associated with the accident, the confusion and alarm the dark man opposite her evoked—all of it faded into a still, soothing warmth as the wine and good food did its work. It was a calm respite that she knew wouldn’t last, but it was wonderfully pleasing on the senses.
They laughed, they joked, they ate and drank, but through it all, every moment, every second, she was vitally aware of the big, dark, laconic figure opposite her, every nerve and sinew tuned into him in a way she had never experienced before. She didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it either.
‘Did you go home to change?’ It was towards the end of the meal that she asked the question that had been at the back of her mind all evening, indicating his immaculate evening wear with a wave of her hand.
‘Si, it is not far.’ He smiled politely, and his voice reflected his expression as he added, ‘You must visit my home at some time while you are here.’
Oh, he didn’t think she had been angling for a visit to his villa, did he? Her calm composure shattered instantly. She hadn’t. She really hadn’t.
‘Thank you, but I think I’m going to have plenty to do with the lady in waiting.’ She softened the refusal with a careful smile, hoping he would get the message that he was off the hook, but instead of the overt relief she had expected to see in the lethal black eyes his face took on a coolness, a remoteness that was intimidating.
‘I am sure there will be an opportunity, nevertheless,’ he said stiffly. ‘It will be a pleasure to entertain you.’
Brilliant—she’d offended him now. He’d probably guessed she’d sensed he was offering out of courtesy and, with true Italian pride and hospitality, would now force the issue in spite of his feelings just to save face.
‘Yes,