Chapter Six
MILLY HAD STRETCHED her wash and brush up into the best part of an hour she realised guiltily when she finally glanced at her watch. Most of that time had been spent leaning out of the bedroom window, breathing the warm scented air and making herself concentrate on nothing else but the view of the shallow wooded valley, the arc of the blue sky overhead, soaking up the utter tranquility. Anything to take her mind off her decidedly dodgy situation.
In any other circumstances she would have loved being here, especially with the man she loved. It was the perfect place for a romantic idyll.
And where that had come from she had no idea. The wayward thought shocked her. She didn’t have a man to love, here or anywhere else!
Unlike her sister, to whom the male of the species gravitated like moths to a brilliant light, Milly hadn’t had much to do with the opposite sex. Quiet and unsure of herself, always deep in her twin’s shadow, she hadn’t exactly been sought after and had certainly never been in love.
Her first date had been a disaster. Sixteen years old and, compared with Jilly, still wet behind the ears, she’d been hugely flattered when, out of the blue, the local pin-up, Mitch Farraday, had asked her out.
He’d been earthily good-looking, full of himself, pushy. Her girl friends had all drooled over him. But the date had ended up in a scary tussle at the back of the cinema with him calling her vile names. He had taken it for granted that buying her a seat in the stalls fully entitled him to have sex. It had horrified her and she’d fought him off like a wild spitting cat.
It had frightened her, had put her off the male sex for ages. Then she’d met Bruce. Twelve years her senior, an accountant, he’d lived with his widowed mother.
He’d called into the shop to buy a pot plant and they’d got talking. Discovering a mutual interest in visiting local gardens open to the public, he’d returned a week later and invited her to accompany him and his mother to Bassett Hall gardens, an annual pilgrimage for them, apparently. And because she’d heard of the acres of rhododendrons and azaleas—at their best at that time of the year, the lakes and grottos, she’d accepted. Without her own transport she hadn’t been able to get there under her own steam.
And because Bruce was solid and worthy, without a flash bone in his body, and she was comfortable in his company they had seen each other once a week for the last two years.
He was a pleasant companion. He made no sexual demands. It had only been after the death of her mother that things had changed, subtle hints from him and not so subtle ones from his mother about settling down, formalising their relationship.
Sighing, Milly turned away from the window. She liked Bruce—and his mother—but she didn’t love him and never would. She’d been trying to think of a way to tell him, before he decided to come out with a proposal. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings or his pride.
But Cesare had happened. His misconceptions about her twin, his threats.
In the turmoil she hadn’t given poor Bruce a thought. He’d be worried about her and she felt really bad about that. But there was nothing she could do about it until she got back to the mainland. She could phone him and tell him she’d taken a temporary job as a companion. And thinking about Bruce—something she rarely did unless she was actually with him—was, she recognised, a cowardly delaying tactic.
Sooner or later she was going to have to face Cesare, carry on the deception as best she could and hope to discover why exactly he had brought her here. And hope to heaven that it wasn’t what she thought it was!
Sex.
She was pretty sure Jilly had confidently expected marriage. Was as sure as she could be that her twin had taken off, hurting and humiliated, the moment that brute had told her that all he wanted from her was hot sex.
Now he believed he had a hold over his grandmother’s companion. That with his threat to go to the law hanging over her she’d do exactly as he wished. So did he think he could take up where he’d left off? Did the idea of that brand of dominating sexual revenge give him a buzz?
According to his warped mind, Jilly had stolen an as yet unspecified amount of money. Was he now intent on exacting repayment? As Jilly’s stand-in the thought was enough to give her nightmares!
Her tummy muscles tight with nerves, Milly straightened her spine until it was ramrod stiff and made her way downstairs to set about making lunch. Not that she was hungry, but he, conscienceless, would be. And it would give her something to do, maybe even take her mind off the mess she was in for all of two seconds.
To be met by the sight of Cesare confidently dividing the contents of a pan between two plates with the panache of a professional.
‘I was just about to call you.’ A warm smile, lacking guile, then a slight inclination of his far-too-handsome head. ‘I thought we’d eat outside. The wine’s uncorked; perhaps you’d like to pour it.’
He’d found a small table and two chairs from somewhere, she noted, as she stepped out on to the sun-soaked paved area in front of the cottage. The edges of the white tablecloth moved lazily in the gentle breeze.
Cutlery, glasses, a basket of bread rolls and a slab of creamy butter on a blue earthenware plate. Her hands shook as she poured a little red wine into both glasses and she sank on to one of the chairs because her knees gave way as he appeared.
‘Tell me what you think.’ Cesare slid a plate in front of her and retreated to the chair on the other side of the table. ‘When I cook I like to experiment.’ An eyebrow quirked in rare self-disparagement. ‘Sometimes it goes horribly wrong!’
Against all her expectations the delicate aroma enticed the appetite she thought she’d lost for ever and, struggling with confusion, Milly forked up lemony rice and one of the perfectly cooked succulent prawns. The dish was garnished with mushrooms and roasted peppers and was absolutely delicious.
Suddenly ravenous, she reached for a roll and lavished it with butter and Cesare demanded softly, ‘Well, what’s the verdict?’
‘Fabulous—you can cook for me any time you like!’ Her first real smile for days lit up her features and he returned it with a devastating grin of his own before starting on his meal.
He could actually seem human, Milly marvelled, trying to see through the mists of confusion that were now fogging her brain. And how easily, naturally, she could respond to him was an eye-opener! A tiny frown furrowed her brow. She’d honestly believed that Cesare Saracino wouldn’t know how to boil a kettle and was too arrogant to even want to know how to perform that most mundane of tasks. Yet he’d set to and produced one of the most delicious meals she’d ever eaten.
She’d been proved wrong about that; was she also wrong about believing him to be all bad? And another thought struck her a savage blow. Had she been acting like a brain dead gnat when she’d entered this utterly distasteful deception?
She was trapped here. Once back on the mainland she would be trapped at the villa. With blithe stupidity she’d seen herself tracking Jilly down before Cesare reached her, combing the streets of Florence, calling the contact number her twin had given when she’d worked there, questioning her friends and her former employer in the hope of gaining a clue to her present whereabouts.
Fat chance! She might just as well decide to explore the dark side of the moon. Jumping on a bus or taking a taxi into Florence wasn’t an option when she had no money and, as Cesare had stringently pointed out, she wouldn’t be earning any either!
Reflectively she sipped her wine and Cesare, leaning back against his chair, one arm hooked casually over the back, said softly, ‘A penny for them.’
‘You’d be wasting your money!’ Milly came back abstractedly, fighting uncertainty over what to do.
Carry on in her role as her