Second Marriage. HELEN BROOKS

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ name has barely been off Lorenzo’s lips since the summer. He clearly adores you.’

      ‘He’s a nice...he’s a lovely lad,’ she said quietly, alarmed at the way such a casual touch could make her quiver. ‘He’s coped with a lot in his short life from what Grace tells me—the loss of his parents and...and his sister,’ she continued, after the briefest of pauses when she realised she wasn’t being exactly tactful in reminding him of his loss. ‘And yet he has come through it all without any bitterness or resentment and emerged as a normal and well-adjusted teenager.’

      ‘Donato and Grace are partly to be praised for that.’

      She could smell his aftershave, and whether it was because it was wildly expensive or just that his physical chemistry suited it wonderfully well, the end result was making a sensual warmth tremble deep in her lower stomach as the faint but heady fragrance touched her senses.

      ‘They purposely decided to give the last two or three years to Lorenzo, to make sure he felt loved and wanted for who and what he is, before they tried for a family of their own again.’

      ‘Did they?’ She stopped at the door to the dining room, the others having walked ahead. ‘They are good people, aren’t they?’ she said softly as she looked up into his darkly handsome face.

      ‘Yes, they are. But goodness can make one frighteningly vulnerable at times.’ His voice was cold now, very cold. ‘It is a commodity that is less desirable in this present world than scepticism, I think. To disbelieve, to doubt or question, this is not a bad thing.’

      ‘Not in some circumstances, but you don’t mean as a general rule, do you?’ she asked, stiffening at the blatant cynicism his words had revealed.

      ‘That is exactly what I mean,’ he said expressionlessly, his glittering black eyes noting the indignant flush in her cheeks.

      ‘Well, I don’t agree with that!’ She glared at him, her eyes honey-gold in the artificial light overhead and her body language militant ‘That’s awful. That would mean you could never trust anyone, or believe in them, unless you had a signed affidavit first.’

      ‘A little extreme, but near enough to make no matter.’ He gestured to the room beyond with a curt nod of his head. ‘I think they are waiting...?’

      The dinner table was a vision of heavy, solid silver cutlery, fine crystal glasses, exquisite linenware and a magnificent centrepiece of hot-house blooms that perfumed the air with a sweet fragrance. The room itself was grand and ornate too, and more than a little awe-inspiring, like the rest of Casa Pontina.

      As the courses came and went, each one more delicious than the one before, Claire found she didn’t have to work at relaxing. Several glasses of good wine combined with Donato and Grace at their best as amusing and congenial hosts were lulling her unease. The tiring day, mostly spent travelling by plane and car, the memories of everything associated with the accident, the confusion and alarm the dark man opposite her evoked—all of it faded into a still, soothing warmth as the wine and good food did its work. It was a calm respite that she knew wouldn’t last, but it was wonderfully pleasing on the senses.

      They laughed, they joked, they ate and drank, but through it all, every moment, every second, she was vitally aware of the big, dark, laconic figure opposite her, every nerve and sinew tuned into him in a way she had never experienced before. She didn’t like it, but there was nothing she could do about it either.

      ‘Did you go home to change?’ It was towards the end of the meal that she asked the question that had been at the back of her mind all evening, indicating his immaculate evening wear with a wave of her hand.

      ‘Si, it is not far.’ He smiled politely, and his voice reflected his expression as he added, ‘You must visit my home at some time while you are here.’

      Oh, he didn’t think she had been angling for a visit to his villa, did he? Her calm composure shattered instantly. She hadn’t. She really hadn’t.

      ‘Thank you, but I think I’m going to have plenty to do with the lady in waiting.’ She softened the refusal with a careful smile, hoping he would get the message that he was off the hook, but instead of the overt relief she had expected to see in the lethal black eyes his face took on a coolness, a remoteness that was intimidating.

      ‘I am sure there will be an opportunity, nevertheless,’ he said stiffly. ‘It will be a pleasure to entertain you.’

      Brilliant—she’d offended him now. He’d probably guessed she’d sensed he was offering out of courtesy and, with true Italian pride and hospitality, would now force the issue in spite of his feelings just to save face.

      ‘Yes, perhaps. But Donato and Grace have mentioned how busy you are. We’ll have to see...’ Her voice trailed off as his sombre gaze took hers and held it in a grip that was paralysing.

      ‘Saturday evening,’ he said grimly.

      ‘What?’ She was aware that the other three had paused in the easy conversation they had been holding about future names for the babies, and that Donato and Grace at least were listening with some interest.

      ‘Dinner at my home on Saturday evening.’ It was said without the slightest pretence at an invitation. In fact the cool, harsh words carried more of a challenge than anything else, and it was one she had no intention of taking up.

      ‘I don’t think—’

      ‘Donato and Grace too, of course.’ There was a cold arrogance in the way he spoke that suggested he knew she wouldn’t dare accept an invitation by herself, but even that overt mockery wasn’t going to provoke her into agreeing to go to his home, she thought angrily, bristling in spite of herself. Who did he think he was anyway? Ordering her about as though she were some sort of stupid schoolgirl who wouldn’t say boo to a goose?

      ‘I’m sorry, Romano. It’s very kind of you, but I really would like a few days to acclimatise and get used to things,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sure there will be other opportunities—’

      ‘A week on Saturday, then,’ he said immediately.

      She knew a moment’s sheer panic at the fact that a will far stronger than hers was meeting her head-on, and then decided that she had made her point and that to refuse again would be both petty and rude.

      ‘That will give you enough time to...adjust?’ he asked with deceptive smoothness, one black eyebrow quirking in a manner that could only be called goading.

      ‘I should think so.’

      She managed a bright smile, as though all the undercurrents had completely passed her by, but then stiffened when in the next instant Donato said, ‘That would work out very well, in actual fact. Grace and I have tickets for the opera on that night—you remember you bought them for my birthday, Romano? I was going to suggest that Grace and Claire used them instead, but if Claire is happy to have dinner with you we will know she is being looked after, and we could all go to the opera together another time.’

      ‘Of course, a week on Saturday is your birthday.’ There was something, just something in the silky soft voice that told Claire that Romano hadn’t forgotten the date of Donato’s birthday for a moment, or the treat he had arranged for his friend and his wife, and as she turned her head again to look him straight in the eye the black gaze was waiting for her. ‘I’m sure Claire would rather you and Grace enjoy the opera together,’ he continued pleasantly. СКАЧАТЬ