The Helen Bianchin Collection. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      ‘Hannah.’ Enrico leant forward and pressed his lips lightly to one cheek, then the other, and pumped Miguel’s extended hand. ‘Come through to the lounge.’

      As they drew close it was possible to hear the light hum of conversation, and Enrico led them into a large spacious room filled with heavy antique chairs and sofas grouped into comfortable facing sets.

      Men stood, resplendent in formal dinner suits, and each of the women resembled a model out of Vogue, the epitome in elegance and cosmetic perfection.

      Hannah let her gaze skim a few familiar faces, her smile genuinely warm as she moved forward. She was one of them, born into established old money, educated and groomed to become part of an élite social clique. Hell, she’d even married into it.

      Graziella enveloped them warmly, then she placed an arm through one each of theirs and drew them towards the centre of the room.

      ‘You know most everyone. Except some dear people I very much want you to meet. They are visiting from Europe this summer.’

      Graziella and Enrico had friends in almost every city in the world, and frequently entertained guests in their home.

      ‘Aimee Dalfour, and her niece, Camille,’ Graziella indicated in introduction. ‘Hannah and Miguel Santanas.’

      Camille was tall, slender, and startlingly beautiful, with hair that cascaded way down past her shoulders in a fall of lustrous sable. Exquisitely applied make-up, flawless textured skin, and a body to die for. Add a designer gown and shoes, expensive jewellery, and the result was drop-dead gorgeous.

      ‘Miguel,’ Camille purred in a sultry accented drawl. ‘C’est opportune.’ She extended her hand and silently dared him to take it, her dark eyes simmering with blatant challenge.

      This woman was trouble, Hannah decided with a sinking heart. Camille’s fascination with Miguel was glaringly obvious. Also apparent was her intention to charm.

      Hannah unconsciously held her breath as instinct caused all her fine body hairs to rise in protective self-defence, watching as Miguel brushed his lips to the manicured fingers, then released them.

      ‘Hannah,’ Camille acknowledged with pseudo politeness, and returned her attention to Miguel.

      ‘Enrico will get you a drink,’ Graziella informed them, ever the benevolent hostess. ‘What would you like?’

      Hannah was tempted to request something exotic, but she hadn’t eaten since midday and then only a yoghurt followed an hour later by an apple. Alcohol on an empty stomach was not conducive to a clear head.

      ‘Thank you. Orange juice,’ she requested, and glimpsed Camille’s faint moue at her choice.

      ‘You don’t drink?’ she queried in a tone that indicated not to imbibe was a social faux pax.

      Hannah inclined her head. ‘In this instance I’d prefer to wait and have wine with dinner.’

      ‘You do not have the head for it?’

      Hannah chose not to rise to the bait, and merely smiled.

      Minutes later she sipped the cool liquid from a stemmed goblet, aware Camille excelled in her role as temptress.

      Keep it up, Hannah warned silently, and I’ll scratch your eyes out!

      At that moment Miguel placed an arm along the back of her waist. A gesture that didn’t seem to have any effect at all.

      The brush of beautifully lacquered nails as the Frenchwoman touched Miguel’s sleeve. The deliberately seductive smile. The promise lurking beneath those impossibly long curled eyelashes.

      Why, she was practically eating him alive!

      Hannah decided enough was enough. She didn’t have to stand here and watch Camille’s blatant seduction.

      ‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She offered Camille a stunning smile, let it drift to settle on her inimitable husband for a few seconds before she moved away a few paces to join her father-in-law.

      ‘May I say you look beautiful tonight?’ Esteban complimented lightly as he leaned forward and brushed his lips to her cheek.

      ‘Thank you,’ Hannah responded gently. ‘It’s a few weeks since you’ve been to the house. You must have dinner with us soon. We don’t see enough of you.’

      His smile was affectionately warm. ‘Gracias. But you know how it is?’ He gave a light shrug, and she couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

      ‘A full social calendar,’ she said gravely. ‘And several women vying for your attention?’

      ‘Ah, you flatter me.’

      ‘No,’ she assured him kindly. ‘You’re a very nice man, of whom I’m very fond.’ And one any woman in her right mind would snap up in a minute. Except his late wife Isabella held a special place in his heart, and he had no desire to find a substitute.

      A mutual acquaintance joined them, and after a few minutes she moved away.

      ‘I think,’ a light feminine voice suggested, ‘you might need to sharpen your claws.’

      Hannah turned towards Suzanne Trenton. ‘Really? And use them on whom? Miguel?’

      ‘Camille, darling. There are other methods a wife can use to tame her husband.’

      It was meaningless repartee, spoken with jesting cynicism for the benefit of mutual amusement.

      ‘Such as?’ Hannah ventured, and Suzanne gave a soft laugh.

      ‘Expensive jewellery.’

      ‘Do enlighten me,’ Miguel drawled as he threaded his fingers through those of his wife.

      Hannah stood perfectly still for a few seconds, then she allowed her gaze to meet his. ‘Pink and white diamonds,’ she fabricated. ‘A drop necklace and matching earrings.’ A bewitching smile tilted the edge of her lips. ‘They’re quite beautiful.’

      ‘Is this a wifely hint?’ His mouth slanted into a humorous curve, at variance with the still watchfulness evident as he raked her features, noting the over-bright smile, her tense stance.

      At that moment Graziella announced dinner was about to be served, and began directing guests towards the dining room.

      ‘There was no need for you to desert me,’ Miguel intoned mildly as they moved across the room.

      ‘You appeared to be doing quite well on your own.’

      ‘Careful, querida,’ he drawled musingly. ‘Your claws are showing.’

      She gave him a winsome smile. ‘Why, amante,’ she offered with quiet emphasis, ‘I haven’t even begun to unsheathe them.’

      If Graziella seated them close to Camille, she’d scream. The gods couldn’t be that unkind, could they?

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