A Night In The Palace. Carole Mortimer

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СКАЧАТЬ in the lounge she’d been plied with drinks and food by yet more attendants, before being personally escorted onto the plane by one of them only minutes before the flight was due to take off. She’d been shown to her first class seat—with not an overweight businessman in sight!—and then given champagne and canapés until she couldn’t eat or drink any more. The result being that she had dropped off to sleep after her third glass of champagne, and hadn’t woken up again until the plane had landed.

      And if she had thought her personal—and, she admitted, slightly embarrassing—service to be over once she was outside, then she was sadly mistaken. As soon as she stepped out into the arrivals terminal she saw her name written on a card being held up by a tall and heavily muscled man dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform—a man who looked more like a bodyguard than a chauffeur!

      After introducing himself only as Marco, and ensuring that she was indeed Giselle Barton, he then proceeded to lift her heavy and broken suitcase as if it weighed nothing at all, before carrying it outside to a limousine parked in the ‘No Parking’ zone, leaving Lily with no choice but to follow him.

      Her attempts to ask him questions, in a mixture of very bad Italian and English, didn’t go well. Only the mention of Felix’s name and Count Scarletti’s received a terse ‘si’ of response as Marco ensured Lily was comfortably seated in the back of the limousine before slamming the door firmly behind her and moving to place her case in the cavernous boot of the car.

      All of this was being watched by several dozen pairs of curious eyes, as people obviously wondered if the woman with the long silver-coloured hair, dressed in faded blue denims and a heavy black jacket, was some sort of celebrity. Obviously a celebrity who bought her clothes from a thrift shop!

      By the time Marco slid in behind the wheel of the long black car to drive smoothly away from the kerb and enter the stream of traffic, Lily was flushed with embarrassment, and the glass partition separating the front and the back of the limousine wasn’t conducive to any further attempts to question the chauffeur, either.

      Left with no other choice, Lily chose to sit back in her leather seat and enjoy the scenery outside as the car sped towards the centre of Rome; if she was going to wake up from this Cinderella-like transformation any time soon then she might as well enjoy what was left of it!

      She had been right about the temperature: it wasn’t exactly T-shirt weather outside, but it was definitely ten or so degrees warmer than England, with no snow in sight. And the sun was shining too, which made everything look so much brighter and warmer. Lily was so enthralled by the city of Rome that after the first couple of near misses with other cars, as drivers honked and gesticulated, only to be completely ignored by the stoic Marco, she decided it might be best to return her attention to the amazing scenery outside the window.

      Every street corner seemed to have statuary, a fountain or a nativity scene—it was almost Christmas, after all—along with imposing museums that easily rivalled the history of the sludge-covered London Lily had left behind her only hours ago. Many of the outside cafés were open for business too—even if the patrons had to wear coats and scarves in order to keep warm.

      No wonder Felix had so obviously fallen in love with the city. And not only the city, apparently; he had informed Lily weeks ago that he was going out with a young Italian girl named Dee, whom he wanted to introduce to her at the earliest opportunity.

      Rome appeared to be a city where it would be all too easy to fall in love...

      * * *

      Lily frowned her confusion when, half an hour or so after leaving the airport, Marco didn’t stop the car outside an apartment building at all, but instead parked outside two imposing wooden doors, at least fifteen foot high. They slowly opened, and Marco then drove the car into the courtyard of a magnificent building that must surely once have been a royal palace.

      The tall wooden doors had closed firmly behind them by the time Marco got out of the car and opened the back door for Lily.

      Despite the teeming rush and bustle of the city outside, it was strangely silent inside these four walls as she slowly stepped out into the shadowed courtyard. Silent and intimidating. Eerily so.

      Lily pulled her jacket more tightly about her as she turned to the chauffeur. ‘Mi scusi, signor—parla inglese?’

      ‘No,’ he answered abruptly, before moving to the back of the car to remove her case from the boot.

      Obviously not the talkative type, she acknowledged ruefully. Which was of absolutely no help to her at all!

      She realised that all the attention at the airport in England, and on the plane earlier, had lulled her into a false sense of security. She had, in fact, left Leonardo da Vinci airport with a man she didn’t know and who had hardly spoken a word to her after telling her his name. And it was she who’d mentioned Felix and the Count’s names, not Marco! Added to which, Lily had now been delivered to a building that looked as if it might once have been a palace but could just as easily have been a brothel! An expensive and exclusive brothel, obviously, but a brothel nonetheless.

      Pictures flashed inside Lily’s mind of newspaper articles she had read over the years on the lucrative slave trade in blond-haired, blue-eyed young women. Women who to all intents and purposes had simply disappeared into the ether, but who had actually been whisked off somewhere and kept locked behind closed doors, their bodies used and abused, until they were no longer young enough to attract the attention of the wealthy customers. When they were either disposed of or placed in yet another brothel—one whose customers weren’t so fastidious regarding the age of the women they paid to bed.

      She really was the country bumpkin she had described herself as being earlier! Shouldn’t be allowed out on her own... Certainly shouldn’t have attempted to fly to Rome on her own...

      Slightly frightened now, she turned back to the chauffeur as he placed her suitcase on the cobbled stones of the courtyard. ‘Signor, I really must—’

      ‘That will be all, thank you, Marco.’

      Lily froze for the fraction of a second it took for an icy shiver to run down the length of her spine just at the sound of that husky and yet authoritative voice, before turning sharply to look up at the gallery above. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw there was a man standing in the shadows, looking down into the courtyard from the first floor. Even squinting hard into the depths of those shadows, Lily couldn’t make out the man’s features—was aware only of an impression of height and leashed power.

      The brothel master, maybe?

      Oh, good grief, Lily, she instantly admonished herself. Of course he wasn’t the brothel master—because this wasn’t a brothel. There would be a perfectly sensible explanation for her having been brought here. One the man on the gallery above could obviously give her, considering that just now he had spoken in perfect, and only slightly accented English.

      She turned back to thank Marco for his assistance—only for her apprehension to return with a vengeance when she realised that the chauffeur had disappeared silently into the bowels of the house while she’d stared up, mesmerised by the presence of the man in the gallery.

      Which had perhaps been the intention all along? Distracting her attention, allowing Marco to disappear, and so leaving her completely alone and at the mercy of this other man?

      She turned to glare up at the man on the gallery. Damn it, she was twenty-six years old, a British citizen and a teacher, with a mortgage on her small London flat and all the responsibilities that went along with those СКАЧАТЬ