Wife By Arrangement. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘No way. But he’s the head of the family, and in Sicily that’s very important. However fierce he was, he was always my wonderful big brother who’d stick by me, help sort out my problems—’

      ‘Deal with the girls’ fathers?’ Heather suggested mischievously.

      Lorenzo cleared his throat. ‘That’s all in the past. Let’s go in.’

      Heather was curious to meet this man who was so important in Lorenzo’s life. She looked around at the luxurious restaurant with its elegant marble and floor-to-ceiling French windows, hung with heavy red curtains.

      On the far side a man sat alone at a table. He rose as they approached him, a polite smile of welcome on his face. Heather strove to match it through the tide of indignation that welled up in her.

      ‘Good evening, signorina,’ Renato Martelli said, giving her a courteous little bow. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’

      ‘You mean, meet me again, don’t you?’ she asked coolly. ‘You surely can’t have forgotten our encounter in Gossways this afternoon?’

      ‘What’s this?’ Lorenzo asked. ‘You’ve met before?’

      ‘Earlier today,’ Renato Martelli confirmed. ‘I was impatient to see the lady of whom I’ve heard so much, so I adopted a subterfuge, for which I hope I’ll be forgiven.’ He was smiling as he raised her hand to his lips.

      Heather regarded him wryly. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said.

      Renato gallantly pulled out a gilt-and-plush chair for her, and the three of them sat down.

      ‘What subterfuge?’ Lorenzo asked, looking from one to the other.

      ‘Your brother came to my counter, posing as a customer,’ Heather told him.

      ‘I thought we could assess each other in a more natural atmosphere,’ Renato explained.

      ‘Each other?’ she murmured.

      ‘I’m sure you formed your own opinion of me.’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him. ‘I certainly did.’

      She left it there. She was far from finished but she didn’t want to look as though she were sulking. A waiter appeared with the menu and when he’d given the order Renato added, ‘And a bottle of your very finest champagne.’

      At this hint of approval Lorenzo grinned. Perversely Heather found herself even more annoyed. Was she supposed to jump for joy because Renato Martelli had tossed her a crumb of favour?

      She would never have guessed they were brothers. She knew that over the centuries the island of Sicily had been invaded so often that many racial types—Greek, Arab, Italian, French, Spanish, Celtic—were mixed in its inhabitants. There was something Greek in Lorenzo’s fine looks, blue eyes and light brown curly hair. Despite his size his movements were graceful.

      She guessed Renato was one of those men who had come to manhood in his early teens. It was hard to picture him as a boy. Perhaps an Italian ancestor had given him those vivid looks, but the air of haughty pride came from a Spaniard, and there was something Celtic in the mobility of his face, the sensuality of his wide mouth.

      His features were fierce and irregular, and at first sight he was put in the shade by his beautiful younger brother. But there was a dark glitter in his eyes that compelled attention, and he had an extra something that made looks irrelevant. In a room full of handsome men, Renato Martelli would be the one women looked at, and wondered about.

      He was powerfully built, with a massiveness about him that reminded Heather of a bull. Yet he carried no extra weight. His body was hard and athletic, the heavy muscles pressing against the expensive cloth of his suit, as though formal clothes didn’t come naturally to him. He was a man made for the outdoor life, riding a horse, surveying his acres, or anything he could do in shirtsleeves.

      The champagne was served in tall crystal glasses. Renato raised his in salute. ‘To the pleasure of meeting you,’ he told Heather.

      ‘To our meeting,’ she replied, significantly changing the words. There was the briefest flicker on Renato’s face that might have been acknowledgement.

      Over cream of cauliflower soup with ribbons of smoked salmon, he talked about Lorenzo and his lengthened visit to England.

      ‘He should have left two weeks ago, but always there are excuses, and I start to understand that some great power is holding him here. And that power comes from a woman. For the first time he is talking about marriage—’

      ‘Renato—’ Lorenzo groaned.

      ‘Ignore him,’ Heather said. ‘He’s trying to disconcert you.’

      ‘You seem to understand me by instinct, signorina,’ Renato said, impressed.

      ‘I don’t need instinct. Experience will do. You spent the afternoon trying to disconcert me. You like to wrong-foot people.’

      He raised his champagne glass in ironic salute, but his eyes, over the rim, were suddenly harder, alert. ‘Touché!’ he said. ‘I see I shall have to beware of you.’

      ‘What a good idea,’ she agreed sweetly. ‘Do go on. Lorenzo was talking about marriage and you rushed to England to see if I was good enough.’

      ‘I came to discover if you were as wonderful as he says,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘And I find that you are.’

      It was charmingly said but she wasn’t fooled. This was a man who did nothing except for his own reasons. But if he thought she was going to make it easy for him he had another think coming.

      ‘Let’s be frank,’ she said with a challenging smile. ‘Lorenzo is a Martelli. He could marry an heiress. When you found him paying attention to a humble shop assistant it set your alarm bells ringing. That, Signor Martelli, is the truth. The rest is just fancy talk.’

      Lorenzo groaned and dropped his head in his hands. Renato reddened slightly. ‘Now it is you who are trying to disconcert me.’

      ‘And I’m not doing too badly either,’ she murmured.

      His response was a grin that blazed out suddenly, taking her by surprise. It was brilliant, intensely masculine, and it came from a fire deep within him.

      ‘Then I too will be frank,’ he told her. ‘Humble shop assistant! That is nonsense. You feel no more humble than I do. You’re a strong woman, even an arrogant one, who thinks she could take on the world, and win. You certainly believe you could get the better of me. You might even be right.’

      ‘Always assuming that I’ll need to fight you,’ she said lightly. ‘But will I?’

      ‘I don’t know. I haven’t finally decided.’

      ‘I await your decision in fear and trembling,’ she told him in an ironic tone that conveyed just the opposite.

      He raised his glass in salute. Heather raised hers in return, but she was still on her guard.

      ‘That’s СКАЧАТЬ