The Italian Millionaire's Marriage. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘She’s been in the shop a couple of times.’

      ‘Buying or selling?’

      ‘Selling.’ Harriet fell silent, sensing a minefield.

      ‘Probably pieces from the Maddox ancestral home, to pay her father’s debts,’ Marco supplied. ‘I gather he’s a notorious gambler.’

      ‘Yes,’ she said, relaxing. ‘I didn’t want to tell tales if you didn’t know.’

      ‘It’s common knowledge. Dulcie has to earn her living, and she was working as a private enquiry agent when she came to Venice and met Guido. What did you think of her?’

      ‘Beautiful,’ Harriet said enviously. ‘All that long fair hair—if she still has it?’

      ‘She had when I said goodbye to her a few weeks back. As you say, she’s beautiful, and she’ll keep Guido in order.’

      She laughed. ‘Does he need keeping in order?’

      ‘Definitely. A firecracker, with no sense of responsibility. That’s my Uncle Francesco talking, by the way. Count Calvani. He’s been desperate for Guido to marry and produce an heir to the title.’

      ‘Hasn’t he done that himself?’

      ‘No, the title will go to one of his nephews. It should have been Leo, Guido’s older half-brother. Their father married twice. His first wife, Leo’s mother, was supposedly a widow, but her first husband turned up alive, making the marriage invalid and Leo illegitimate, and unable to inherit the title.’

      ‘That’s dreadful!’

      ‘Leo doesn’t think so. He doesn’t want to be a count. The trouble is, neither does Guido, but that’s going to be his fate. So uncle tried to find him a suitable wife, and was giving up in despair when Guido fell for Dulcie.

      ‘My uncle is also, finally, going to get married. Apparently he’s been in love with his housekeeper for years and has finally persuaded her to marry him. He’s in his seventies, she’s in her sixties, and they’re like a pair of turtle-doves.’

      ‘That’s charming!’ Harriet exclaimed.

      ‘Yes, it is, although not everyone thinks so. My mother is scandalised that he’s marrying “a servant” as she calls her.’

      ‘Does anyone care about that kind of thing these days?’

      ‘Some people,’ Marco said carefully. ‘My mother’s heart is kind but her views about what is “proper” come from another age.’

      ‘What about you?’

      ‘I don’t always embrace modern ways,’ he said. ‘I make my decisions after a lot of careful thought.’

      ‘A banker would have to, of course.’

      ‘Not always. Among my banking colleagues I have the reputation of sometimes getting carried away.’

      ‘You?’ she asked with an involuntary emphasis.

      ‘I have been known to thrown caution to the winds,’ he said gravely.

      ‘Profitably, of course.’

      ‘Of course.’

      She studied his face, trying to see if he was joking or not, unable to decide. He guessed what she was doing and regarded her wryly, eyebrows raised as if to ask whether she’d worked it out yet. The moment stretched on and he grew uncomfortably aware of something transfixed in her manner.

      ‘Would you like some more wine?’ he asked, to bring her back to earth.

      ‘I’m sorry, what was that?’

      ‘Wine.’

      ‘Oh, no—no, thank you. You know your face really is familiar. I wish I could remember—’

      ‘Perhaps I remind you of a boyfriend,’ he suggested delicately. ‘Past or present?’

      ‘Oh, no, I haven’t had a boyfriend for ages,’ she murmured, still regarding him.

      What was the matter with her he wondered? Sophisticated one minute, gauche the next. Still, it told him what he needed to know.

      As they were eating he asked, ‘How do you and Olympia come to have different nationalities?’

      ‘We don’t,’ Harriet said quickly. ‘We’re both Italian.’

      ‘Well, yes, in a sense—’

      ‘In every sense,’ she interrupted with a touch of defiance. ‘I was born in Italy, my father is Italian and my name is Italian.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Marco said, seeing the glint of anger in her large eyes and thinking how well it suited her. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’

      ‘Hasn’t Olympia told you the story?’

      ‘Only vaguely. I know your father married twice, but naturally Olympia knows very little about his first wife.’

      ‘My mother loved him terribly and he just dumped her. I remember when I was five years old, finding her crying her eyes out. She told me he was throwing us out of the house.’

      ‘Your mother told you that?’ he echoed, genuinely shocked. ‘A child?’

      ‘She was distraught. I simply didn’t believe it. I adored my father and he acted as though he adored me. He used to call my name first when he came home. I thought it would always be like that.’

      ‘Go on,’ he said gently, when she paused.

      ‘Well, his girlfriend was pregnant and he wanted a quick divorce so that he could marry her before the child was born. We were out. Mum said he even forced her to go back to England by threatening to be mean about money if she didn’t.’

      Marco thought of Guiseppe d’Estino, a fleshy, self-indulgent man of great superficial charm but cold eyes, as he now realised. He could well believe this story.

      ‘It must have been a sad life for you after that,’ he said sympathetically.

      ‘I kept thinking he’d invite me for a visit, but he never did. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to turn him against me. My mother never recovered. She grieved every day of her life. She only lived another twelve years, then she had heart trouble and just faded away. I thought he’d send for me then, but he didn’t. I was about to go to college and he said he didn’t want to interrupt my education.’

      Marco murmured something that might have been a swear word.

      ‘Yes,’ Harriet said wryly. ‘I suppose I was beginning to get the picture then, very belatedly. I was rather stupid about it really.’

      ‘The one thing nobody could ever call you is stupid,’ Marco said, regarding her with new interest. ‘I know that much about you.’

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