Damned impertinence! ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ No one was allowed in there without her brother’s permission!
Matthew totally ignored her admonition. Even as she stood there, bristling with indignation, he pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
Caterina was after him like a shot. ‘Excuse me! If you don’t mind...!’ But in the open doorway she paused and blinked in disbelief. This was too much, surely, even for the monstrous Matthew Allenby?
He was standing by the huge carved mahogany desk that stood beneath a painting of Rino, the capital city, executed by the Italian master Canaletto during a visit to San Rinaldo in 1739. And he was picking up a pile of papers that lay there on the desk and riffling through them as bold as brass!
Not even Caterina would have had the nerve to do such a thing. No, not nerve. Nerve didn’t come into it, she corrected herself swiftly. What this was was a case of barefaced insolence!
‘Put those papers down at once!’ She was hurtling towards him. ‘How dare you? Nobody touches the Duke’s private papers!’
He did not put them down. He did not even deign to look at her. He just continued, unperturbed, with his insolent riffling.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’
‘Yes, I heard.’
And still he riffled.
‘Then why don’t you do as I tell you? Put those papers down this instant!’
She was standing right next to him, her eyes on his hands, which hadn’t so much as paused in their insolent work, and suddenly she noticed something she’d never noticed before. He had exceedingly beautiful hands. Sinuous and very masculine, with long, dexterous fingers, sure and swift in their movements.
But what the devil was she doing admiring his hands? A little shocked at herself, Caterina flicked her eyes to his face, with its high, sculpted cheekbones and arrogantly curved nose.
‘Mr Allenby, I’m warning you. Put those papers down at once!’
‘I’ll put them down, Lady Caterina, when I find what I’m looking for.’
Still he did not look at her. Still his fingers kept on searching.
It was too much for Caterina. ‘I said put them down!’ And she reached out angrily to snatch the papers from him.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
Her hand never even made contact with the papers. Quick as a flash, Matthew caught her firmly by the wrist, his grip a band of steel pinning her to the spot, making something flare hotly and unexpectedly inside her.
‘We don’t want your brother’s papers getting damaged, do we?’ The iron-grey eyes pierced through her like bayonets. ‘And let’s get something straight.’ His tone was as taut as a crossbow. ‘I don’t take orders from anyone, and very definitely not from you. I work for your brother. He hired me to do jobs for him. And you, I’m afraid, my dear Lady Caterina, don’t enter into the picture at all.’
There was no trace of the famous Matthew Allenby charm now. What she was seeing was the real man, ruthless and dangerous, though this was only the civilised tip of the iceberg, of course. Caterina felt a shiver touch her spine at the thought of the dark savagery beneath.
Yet she did not back down. She tossed her glossy bobbed head at him. ‘That’s where you’re wrong! I do enter into the picture! As his sister, I have a duty to protect the Duke’s interests. You have no right to go rummaging through his private papers!’
‘I’m sorry but I do. Every right, as it happens. Your brother asked me to pick up certain papers from his desk and that is precisely what I’m doing.’
He continued to hold her, his fingers cool around her wrist. ‘So, you see, all your moral outrage is really quite misplaced.’
Was he telling the truth? Caterina suspected that he probably was. After all, she knew how thick he’d become with Damiano, exerting his evil influence all over the place—even on such unlikely matters as her love life, as she already knew to her painful cost. Yes, she decided reluctantly, he probably was in the right.
But only as regards her brother’s papers. Regarding another small matter he had-definitely overstepped the mark.
She narrowed her blue eyes at him and a little belatedly demanded, ‘And now, if you don’t mind, kindly let go of my arm!’
‘My pleasure.’ With an amused smile he released her instantly. ‘Now,’ he observed calmly, ‘I can finish what I was doing.’ And, turning away, he resumed his search through the papers.
Caterina watched him, hating him, though there was this much to be said for him—at least she knew exactly where she stood with him. For he clearly disliked her every bit as much as she disliked him. And, strangely, there was a perverse satisfaction to be had in the way they were able to clash so openly.
Still, they had never before clashed quite so openly as now—and certainly never with such unleashed physicality. Feeling that band of steel around her arm again, she shivered. Savage! she thought. How dared he lay a hand on her? The only reason why she hadn’t demanded instantly that he release her was that she’d been so taken aback at the insolent black nerve of him.
‘Here it is.’ Matthew had found the document he’d been looking for. As he drew it out of the pile and laid the pile back on the desk, he cast her an amused look from the corner of his eye. ‘Funnily enough,’ he observed, ‘this is a report concerning the garden party. The very event you wished to see me about.’
‘Not you. My brother.’
‘Ah, yes, your brother. Well, in this particular case, that amounts to the same thing. As I told you, he’s put me in charge of the arrangements.’
‘Congratulations. That’s quite a coup.’ Her tone was cutting. ‘You’ll be taking over his duties as head of state next.’
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t spare the time.’ The gibe simply amused him. He held her eyes for a moment, enjoying her frustration—was there no way she could ruffle this wretched man’s feathers? Then he continued, ‘Your brother felt the garden party needed a new look this year. And I’m more than happy to take on the job.’
No doubt he was. The annual Montecrespi garden party, held each year in mid-July to celebrate the Duke’s birthday, was one of the highlights of the European social calendar. Guests flocked from far and wide—from the United States, even Australia—for the honour of drinking vintage champagne and eating smoked salmon and truffles and wild strawberries, while at the same time rubbing shoulders with princes and earls, ambassadors and prime ministers and the cream of the entertainment world.
For as long as Caterina could remember, the transformation of the palace gardens into a suitable venue for this starry event—which had always been held in July, for the old Duke’s birthday had been then too—had been left in the capable hands of Baron Igor. But the old man had recently died and someone was needed to fill his shoes. Caterina had been aware of this, but she certainly hadn’t known that Matthew Allenby had been assigned to the job.
A sad thought struck her. In previous years she would have known. But these days she and Damiano were not so close any more—all thanks to the débâcle over her love life last September, a débâcle created by Matthew Allenby. And she found herself reflecting, not for the first time, that she would very much like to pay him back for that.
She told him now, disparagingly, ‘Well, like I said, congratulations—though I must say I’m surprised you were given the job. I wouldn’t have thought it was quite in your line.’
‘No, it isn’t, I suppose. It’s not strictly architecture. But I quite enjoy getting involved in a bit of simple design from time to time. And it won’t be too demanding. I’ll be able to fit it in between