Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ had seen the darkening of her eyes, felt the unmistakable crackle of tension between them and known that there had been a moment when she had longed for him to take her in his arms and kiss her. The moment was lost—but almost certainly there would be another. ‘Then let’s eat. Are you hungry?’

      ‘Starving,’ she said, without much enthusiasm.

      Cassie watched as he walked back over to the French windows and, reaching inside, rang some sort of bell. He’s ringing a bell to summon his servants! she thought. Once again, she could feel a slightly hysterical sense of being divorced from reality—as a dark-haired woman he introduced as Gina carried out a dish and laid it in the centre of the table, soon followed by a bowl of potatoes and platter of green beans.

      ‘Just something simple,’ he said softly as he pulled out a chair for Cassie. ‘Which will leave you plenty of room for dessert.’

      Cassie didn’t know whether she was imagining sensual imagery at every corner and whether he was intending for that to happen. All she did know was that the woman called Gina was making her feel uncomfortable. Tall and slim, with a pair of trendy black-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose, she was aged about forty and spoke briefly to Giancarlo in Italian.

      So was it the language exclusion which made Cassie feel so out of place—or the fear that Gina might be judging her? Maybe it was her own guilty conscience making her feel awkward as she wondered just how many women had sat where she was sitting, dining with a wealthy Italian they’d only just met. Did any of them stay the night, she wondered—and did Gina serve coffee and breakfast in the morning as if nothing had happened?

      ‘Cassie?’ Giancarlo’s voice broke into the swirl of her thoughts.

      ‘Sorry?’ Biting her lip, she looked up at him to find his ebony gaze washing over her. What on earth was she doing—thinking about women staying the night here?

      ‘You were miles away.’

      ‘Was I?’ She helped herself to a portion of chicken from the dish he was holding towards her. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking…’

      ‘What were you thinking?’

      Hastily, Cassie reassembled her thoughts, glad that the candlelight hid her sudden rise in colour. ‘That I’ve never met anyone who has staff before. Gina’s Italian, isn’t she?’

      ‘Yes, she is.’

      ‘And what about the others that you mentioned—the cook and the gardener—are they all Italian?’

      ‘Do you want me to go through the CVs of my entire staff?’ he questioned softly, taking the bowl from her and placing it in the middle of the table. ‘Yes, they are all Italian. They’ve been with me a long time and know my tastes. Now relax, bella—and eat your dinner. I’m much more interested to hear about you and how you came to be working at the store.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, really.’

      ‘Well, I live in Cornwall—I may have mentioned that.’

      ‘And what is it like, living in Cornwall?’ he murmured.

      She shot him a shy look. ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous—with the most beautiful beaches and the biggest waves you’ve ever seen. It’s a surfers’ paradise and does the best cream teas in the world—have you never been there?’

      ‘No, I haven’t.’ His lips curved, because her enthusiasm was really very sweet. ‘Tell me more.’

      ‘I live close to the sea—in Trevone,’ she said.

      ‘On your own?’

      ‘No, with my mother. She runs a B&B—that’s bed and breakfast—though there are hardly any guests during the winter. My father…’ She swallowed. ‘Well, my father died a couple of years ago.’

      ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Cassie put her fork down. People always said that. I’m sorry. As if somehow they were responsible for the death of a stranger. She guessed it was just what people said when they didn’t really know what to say—though she couldn’t imagine that Giancarlo Vellutini was often stuck for words. She shot him a quick glance as he ate a mouthful of chicken and pushed a bit more food around on her own plate. ‘I suppose you’re shocked that a woman my age is still living at home?’

      He shook his head and shrugged. It meant that there would be no liaisons in her home town—but so what? He wasn’t planning long-term.

      ‘I am from Italy,’ he said softly. ‘Where such a scenario is common. Living with your parents has many advantages—for both parties—although, naturally, it can curtail individual freedom.’

      She couldn’t have put it better herself. ‘Exactly!’

      ‘Is that why you came to London, Cassandra? Because you wanted to be free?’

      ‘Yes, well—sort of,’ she said slowly—because only now had her mother come out of her frozen grief, and allowed Cassie to think that it was okay to leave her on her own. But it was more than that. Hadn’t her father’s death made her rethink everything? Hadn’t it brought home how frighteningly fragile life was and made her examine her own and find it wanting? Making her realise that it was whizzing by and she had done very little with it. ‘I wanted a break. Felt I was in a bit of a rut. You know.’

      She paused to allow him to agree, but he didn’t—and when she thought about it, a jet-setting man like him was unlikely to get bored with the daily grind, was he?

      ‘You see, I’ve only ever lived in one place and felt it was time for a change,’ she continued. ‘I work in a shop in Padstow—a really pretty little gift shop which sells trinkets and craft kits and fancy food. Cornish clottedcream biscuits and crystals—that sort of thing. I’d like to get promoted to manageress—and the owner said that it might be a good idea if I got a bit of experience in London first. She knows one of the buyers at Hudson’s—and she arranged for me to get a temporary job there during the Christmas rush. And so, here I am.’

      ‘Here you are,’ he agreed, sitting back in his chair and looking at her. ‘With your eyes the colour of those little bunches of violets you sometimes see on city market stalls—all dewy fresh amid the dust and grime.’

      She blushed and glanced down at her plate, feeling the sudden skitter of her heart. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.’

      ‘But surely men say that kind of thing to you all the time, especially if you blush so enchantingly in response.’

      ‘Not really.’

      ‘No? Oh, come on, Cassandra—I can’t believe there isn’t a long line of men beating a path to your door.’

      Cassie supposed it would sound shaming to admit that few men of her acquaintance had offered little more in the way of flattery than a terse ‘not bad’ when she’d dressed up for a date. But then most of the men she met were those she’d grown up with who felt more like brothers—or married men who came into the shop accompanied by their wife and two toddlers. Tentatively, she raised her eyes to meet the mocking question in his. ‘I don’t think Englishmen СКАЧАТЬ