The Italians: Angelo, Rocco & Stefano: Wife in the Shadows / A Dangerous Infatuation / The Italian's Blushing Gardener. Sara Craven. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Sara Craven
Издательство: HarperCollins
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Жанр произведения: Современные любовные романы
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781474028271
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the night particularly restful. Her belongings had already been transferred to her new room, thanks to the supremely efficient Giovanni, whom, she thought shuddering, she never wanted to look in the face again. She had to admit that the accommodation was more luxurious than the tower room and possessed a very much larger and very comfortable bed for its occupant to sink into.

      But she could not relax. She had far too much to think about, little of it pleasant. For one thing, it was clear that she and Angelo Manzini had been deliberately set up, and almost certainly by Silvia, but what she couldn’t figure was—why?

      For another, as she’d turned at the door of the salotto to say ‘Goodnight’, she’d found him watching her go with an expression of such scornful resentment that she’d felt her skin burn under his regard.

      Anyone would think, she’d thought angrily, as she went upstairs, that I was the one having the illicit affaire, instead of him. But whatever problems he’s having, he’s brought entirely on himself, and he has no-one else to blame.

      Plus he must know the last thing I ever wanted was to become involved with him or any of his sordid little games, so a touch of gratitude wouldn’t come amiss.

      Nor could she escape the terrible irony that the first time she’d found herself in bed with a man was only as a result of mistaken identity. She supposed it was almost funny, yet she had never felt less like laughing in her life.

      The entire situation had been total humiliation, she thought as pain twisted inside her, turning rapidly into complete disaster.

      She lay in the darkness, her mind revolving wearily over the same well-trodden ground, trying to make sense of it all and failing miserably.

      Wondering too how she would get through the horrific difficulties of the day ahead, pretending to be engaged to a man who appeared to despise her.

      She could find no answer to that and there were already pale streaks in the eastern sky when she eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

      It was mid-morning when she was woken by one of the maids bringing her a breakfast tray of tea with lemon, warm rolls, ham and cheese. At least she was being spared the gauntlet of the dining room, she thought, as the memory of Signor Barzado’s face, goggle-eyed with shock, invaded her shuddering mind. But that had to be the least of her worries.

      She ate what she could, then showered quickly and dressed.

      She paused to look at herself in the full-length mirror before venturing downstairs, scrutinising her ordinary dark green linen skirt and very ordinary white tee shirt. That said it all, she thought, grimacing at her reflection. And no-one in their right mind would ever believe that a man like Angelo Manzini would ask her to marry him, or steal through the darkness for a secret night of passion in her arms.

      However, that was the story, and she would somehow have to stick to it. But only for a strictly limited period, she told herself, lifting her chin. Which was probably the sole aspect of the situation that she and Count Manzini were likely to agree on.

      Giovanni was waiting as she descended the stairs, inclining his head respectfully as he told her the Principessa wished her to be shown to her private sitting room.

      No real surprise there, Ellie thought drily. It was a charming retreat, furnished in shell pink, a shade her godmother described as ‘most calming to the nerves’, and where no-one else would dare to go unless specifically invited, so their conversation would be undisturbed.

      When they reached the door, Giovanni tapped deferentially, then ushered her in. Ellie walked in, a smile nailed firmly in place, only to stop dead as the room’s sole occupant turned from the window to face her.

      He was wearing charcoal pants this morning, and a matching shirt open at the neck. Against the sunlit pastel background, he looked as dark as a moonless night, making Ellie feel, absurdly, that this pretty room was no longer a sanctuary but a panther’s den.

      It was all she could do not to take a step backwards, but she recovered herself and said quietly and glacially, ‘I thought I was here to speak to my godmother, Count Manzini.’

      ‘She felt we should have an opportunity to meet alone.’ His tone was casual. ‘And as we have to convince the world we have been doing so quite intimately over the past weeks, it might be better if you addressed me as Angelo. And I shall call you Elena.’

      It was all said without smiling, but at least he wasn’t looking at her as if she was a slug in his salad. Cool indifference seemed an appropriate description. And she would match it.

      She lifted her chin. ‘Then you really intend to go on with this—ridiculous pretence?’

      ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ He paused. ‘It was mentioned last night, I think, that I am here to negotiate an important financial deal for Galantana with Prince Damiano. There is a great deal at stake, and I will not allow my plans for a major expansion of the company to be wrecked by the malice of an angry woman.’

      She said quickly. ‘Angry?’

      ‘You were aware, I suppose, that your cousin had been my mistress?’

      ‘No, I wasn’t,’ she snapped. ‘Not until you arrived yesterday and I saw her reaction.’

      ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Then you also will not know that I ended the relationship two weeks ago.’

      ‘Ended it?’ She stared at him. ‘That wasn’t the impression you gave last night.’

      ‘It was to be the last time,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And one doesn’t wish to disappoint a lady.’

      ‘Really?’ Ellie’s tone bit. ‘Maybe you should have remembered the risk you were running a little earlier and stayed in your own room.’

      ‘Hindsight,’ he said, ‘is a miraculous gift. Besides, the invitation I received was—most pressing.’

      Her face warmed as she recalled just how sure he’d been of his welcome. ‘I—I really don’t want to hear about it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I still can’t believe that Silvia’s done this. I—I had no intention of spending the weekend here. I only came because I was concerned about her.’ She spread her hands. ‘Even if she wanted revenge by setting you up, why did she have to involve me? It’s unbelievable.’

      His voice was expressionless. ‘She may have had a reason.’

      ‘Well, I can’t imagine what it could be.’ Ellie paused. ‘Anyway, how did she know you’d be here?’

      He frowned. ‘I probably mentioned it, when it seemed not to matter. I forget.’ ‘A costly lapse.’

      ‘As you say.’ His mouth hardened. ‘But, believe me, I would have remembered if she had said she was also to be a guest—and changed my plans accordingly.’

      Ellie said slowly, ‘Once she’d talked me into it, of course, her scheme just—fell into place. I can see that now. After all, you’d have no means of knowing that the tower room was always given to me.’

      ‘No.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘Infatti, its isolation seemed to make it ideal for a place of assignation.’ He paused. ‘How did she persuade you to come with her?’

      She bit her lip. ‘She said Ernesto was becoming foolishly jealous and she needed me to be a kind of chaperone.’

      ‘Dio mio.’ His mouth tightened. ‘And instead she made you her ingenuo—her fall guy.’

      ‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘I presume she was also the one who gave the alarm about the supposed intruder.’

      ‘But of course,’ he said. ‘And with impeccable timing.’

      She swallowed. ‘If you say so.’ Her flush deepened. ‘But surely you—you must have known that you weren’t—that I wasn’t …?’

      ‘Not until you drew blood.’ His smile was sudden and mocking. ‘And maybe