The Italian Millionaire's Marriage. Lucy Gordon

loved most in the world had gone. With a sudden beatific smile that startled him she said, ‘I want to be alone here for a while. Now that it’s safe.’

      ‘I’ll wait for you outside,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s midnight, and I won’t leave you alone with these valuables, a target for robbers and worse. Your untimely death wouldn’t suit me at all.’

      ‘No, you’d have to rethink the whole plan,’ she agreed affably.

      He took her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to do business with someone who understands what matters. I’ll be outside.’

      He held her hand for a moment, then raised it and brushed his lips against the back before walking out.

      Left alone, Harriet looked down at her hand, where she could still feel the light imprint of his mouth. She was shaken and her heart was beating either with pleasure or apprehension, she wasn’t sure. She could only do this if she felt in control, and he’d threatened that control. Furiously she rubbed the back of her hand until the feeling had gone.

      Then she looked around her and her eyes shone. Safe. At least for a while.

      The tempter was there again, whispering that the ‘engagement’ could last just long enough for her to investigate the Palazzo Manelli, and no longer. And why not? The plan would be heartless if Marco’s feelings had been involved, but he’d been at pains to emphasise that they weren’t. He’d looked her over as a piece of merchandise that he could make use of, so why shouldn’t she do the same with him?

      She knew another brief flare of resentment at the way he’d drawn close to her then backed off. A man who was so much in control of himself wouldn’t be easy to deal with. If she let him, he would call all the shots. But she wouldn’t let him.

      His face came into her mind and her eyes fell on the bronze face of Augustus, the two so exactly alike—whatever Marco thought. She remembered Olympia’s words, ‘Really dishy. That fine nose, and that mouth—all stern discipline masking incredible sensuality.’

      It was true, Harriet realised. The wonder was that she alone had seen it in the living man.