He had seated himself beside her now, dropping his jacket over the back of his chair and rolling back the sleeves of his shirt over his forearms. A lean brown-skinned arm, liberally sprinkled with dark hair, rested on the table only inches from her elbow and she quickly withdrew back into her chair.
She hadn’t forgotten the brush of his fingers against her thigh or the disturbing weight of the hand that had rested so briefly on her shoulder moments before. It was stupid to think it, she knew, but there’d been something almost possessive about the way he’d gripped her bones. He’d probably only done it to stop her from blurting out why they were really here, but that hadn’t prevented the unsettling feeling it had given her in her stomach.
Had Maria noticed? She had certainly observed Castelli’s hand resting on her shoulder and she was bound to be speculating about the kind of relationship they had. No relationship, Tess tried to communicate silently. This visit was far more innocent than it appeared. Maria didn’t have to worry that her father was having a midlife crisis over her.
The maid returned wheeling a trolley. From within its chilled cabinet she took a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, another of what looked like lemonade, and a squat jug of fresh cream. Riding on top of the trolley was a pot of coffee and some hand-painted cups and saucers, as well as a dish of almond biscuits and the bottle of wine Castelli had requested.
There were glasses, too, and a cut-glass vase containing a newly picked red rose still not fully in bloom. The girl placed everything on the table along with a handful of scarlet napkins, taking the trouble to set everything out so that her mistress could have no complaint, Tess was sure.
‘Grazie.’
It was Castelli who thanked her, his infrequent smile causing her to blush with obvious pleasure. But then, he had that ability, thought Tess ruefully, to make any woman feel as if she was important. She had to remember that, too. It wouldn’t do for her to think that his interest in her was anything more than self-serving.
Yet there had been that moment in the car when they’d talked more easily. He’d told her a little about his childhood and she’d explained how she’d felt when her father had died. He was easy to talk to and for a little while she’d forgotten what she was doing there and where they were going. However when his questions had become too personal she’d made the mistake of using the insect that had settled on her leg as a distraction, and suddenly she’d been painfully aware of how naive she was.
The way he’d looked at her then had been far from impersonal. There’d been that stillness in his gaze that she’d seen once before and a frankly sensual curve to his mouth. He’d looked at her as if he was assessing what kind of partner she’d make in bed, she thought uneasily. It had been a devastating assault on her senses that had left her feeling confused and shivery and distinctly weak.
Of course moments later she’d been sure she’d imagined it. He hadn’t repeated the look. In fact, he’d spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. It hadn’t helped that she hadn’t been able to think of anything to say either. All she’d done was withdraw into her corner as if having a man stare at her had scared her to death.
But it was foolish to be thinking about such things here with his daughter regarding her with obvious suspicion and Castelli himself near enough to touch. Oh, God, she thought, this was getting far too complicated. She didn’t want any kind of involvement, with him or anyone else.
‘So, Papa,’ said Maria, when the maid had departed again. ‘How did you get to know Miss—er—Tess?’
‘Teresa,’ Castelli corrected her shortly, and Tess could only imagine the warning look he cast his daughter and which caused Maria’s face to darken with colour. ‘We met at the Medici Gallery, naturalmente. I was looking for her sister and she was not there.’
‘No?’ Was that a slightly uncertain note she could hear in the younger girl’s voice now? Tess wondered. Whatever, Maria evidently tried to appear only casually interested. ‘I did not know you were acquainted with the gallery, Papa.’
‘I am not.’ Castelli was sharp and to the point. ‘But your brother is, capisce?’
Maria’s jaw dropped. ‘Marco?’ she echoed, and Tess wondered if she was only imagining the consternation in the girl’s voice now. ‘Ma perché? Prego—but why?’
‘You do not know, cara?’ There was no mistaking the censure in Castelli’s tone. ‘Do not lie to me, Maria. You knew of Marco’s sudden interest in painting. I have heard him discussing his aspirations with you.’
‘Well, yes.’ Maria lifted her shoulders defensively. ‘But why should I associate his interest in painting with the Medici Gallery?’
Castelli’s eyes narrowed. ‘You tell me.’
Maria cast a malevolent look at Tess, clearly resenting her observance of this embarrassing scene. If she could, Tess would have left the table then, just as unhappy with the situation as Maria. But she was a stranger here. She didn’t even know where the restrooms were. And she was supposed to be monitoring the girl’s reactions too. Did she know where her brother was or didn’t she?
‘I do not know what you are talking about, Papa,’ Maria said at last, reaching for the jug of fruit juice and pouring some rather jerkily into an ice-filled glass. Her hand was shaking, however, and she spilled some of the orange juice onto the table. She only just managed to stifle her irritation as she snatched at a napkin to mop it up. Then, turning to Tess, she arched her brows. ‘Juice or coffee?
‘Juice is fine,’ said Tess, not wanting to risk the chance of getting hot coffee spilled over her, deliberately or otherwise. ‘Thanks.’
‘Papa?’
Castelli shifted in his seat and, although she was supposed to be concentrating on their exchange, Tess flinched at the bump of his thigh against her hip. Despite her determination not to get involved with him, she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to the contact. His thigh was hard and warm and masculine, and she felt the heat his body generated spread across her abdomen and down into the moistening cleft between her legs.
She doubted he’d noticed what had happened. After all, what had happened? Just a careless brush of his leg against hers. If she was absurdly sensitive, that was her problem. Castelli was totally focussed on his daughter. She might as well not have been there.
He made an eloquent gesture now, as if having to decide what he wanted to drink was an annoying distraction. ‘Chi-anti,’ he said after a moment, nodding towards the bottle of wine the maid had left uncorked in the middle of the table. ‘But you will not divert me, Maria. Marco is missing. If I find out you know where he is, I shall not forgive you.’
Maria gasped. ‘What do you mean, Papa? Marco is missing? Has he run away?’
‘Do not be melodramatic, Maria. I suspect you know perfectly well what is going on. But in case you have any doubts, let me enlighten you, cara. Your brother has gone away with Ashley Daniels, Tess’s sister.’
Tess wasn’t sure what Maria’s reaction meant then. She was shocked, certainly, but whether that shock was the result of Marco’s behaviour or because her father had found her out, it was impossible to judge.
‘But—that cannot be,’ she said at last, her voice a little unsteady. ‘You are saying that Marco has some interest in the woman who runs the Medici Gallery? That is ludicrous. She is far too old for him.’
Tess decided not to take offence at Maria’s words. After all, she was right. Ashley was too old for Marco. They were all agreed on that. Of course, hearing the scorn in Maria’s voice did make her feel ancient. But what of it? It didn’t matter what Maria thought of her.
‘You