The Italian Match. Kay Thorpe

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      DESPITE her tiredness, Gina was wide awake at six. The early morning sunlight beckoned her out onto the balcony to view the beautifully landscaped gardens stretching to all sides. The vistas beyond were shrouded in early morning haze.

      There was no one about that she could see from here. On impulse, she returned to the bedroom to don a pair of light cotton trousers and a shirt. Half an hour or so’s exploration would still leave her plenty of time to get ready for the day proper.

      She could hear the muted sound of voices coming from somewhere towards the rear of the premises as she descended to the lower floor, but no one appeared to question her purpose. Not that any member of staff would do that in any case, Gina supposed. As a guest of the house she was, as Cornelia had assured her, entitled to do as she wished.

      All the same she reduced the chances of running into anyone by using the front entrance. The Fiat was gone, the driveway clear of vehicles of any kind. There would be garages around the back somewhere, she assumed.

      She headed left, away from the house, dropping down stone steps between white marble pillars to terraces over-hung with luxuriant plant life and strewn with classical statues. Gina revelled in the beauty of it all against the clean, clear blue of the sky.

      On one level lay a pond laced with water lilies of every hue, the carved stone bench at its edge positioned to take full advantage of the harmonious view across the valley. She slowed her steps on sight of the man already seated there.

      ‘I didn’t realise anyone else was up and about yet,’ she said a little awkwardly. ‘I thought I’d take a look around before breakfast.’

      ‘I saw you from my window,’ Lucius admitted. ‘It seemed probable that you would eventually reach this spot.’ His regard this morning was fathomless. ‘So, how do you find our home?’

      ‘It’s truly beautiful,’ she acknowledged. ‘A dream of a place! Why didn’t you tell me you were a Count?’ she tagged on.

      He gave a brief shrug. ‘I have no use for status symbols.’

      ‘Ottavia doesn’t appear to share the aversion.’

      ‘My sister clings to an order long gone.’ He patted the seat at his side. ‘Come sit with me.’

      ‘I have to get back,’ she said hurriedly. ‘It must be getting on for breakfast time.’

      ‘Food will be served whenever and wherever required,’ he advised. A hint of amusement in his eyes now, he added, ‘You are afraid of me, perhaps?’

      ‘Of course not!’ she denied.

      ‘Then, of what I make you feel?’ he continued imperturbably.

      Pretending not to know what he was talking about would be a waste of time and breath, Gina knew. ‘You take a great deal too much for granted,’ she retorted.

      The amusement grew. ‘That is your English half speaking. Your Barsini blood responds to mine.’

      The time to tell him the truth was now, but the words wouldn’t form themselves.

      ‘Grateful as I am to you for what you’re doing with my car, I’m not about to become your playmate for the week,’ she said coolly instead.

      ‘Playmates are for children,’ he returned, not in the least rebuffed. ‘We are neither of us that.’

      ‘But we are strangers,’ she replied with deliberation. ‘You don’t really know anything about me.’

      ‘Then, tell me,’ he invited.

      The moment was there again, but Gina still couldn’t bring herself to take advantage of it.

      ‘I should be getting back,’ she repeated.

      ‘Then, I will come with you,’ he said.

      He got to his feet, lean and lithe as a panther in the black trousers and shirt. Gina steeled herself as he moved to where she stood, but he made no attempt to touch her, falling into step at her side as she turned back the way she had come. Catching the faint scent of aftershave, she was supremely conscious of the fact that she had yet to shower, yet to put a brush to her hair.

      ‘Are you always up this early of a morning?’ she asked.

      ‘I rise when I awaken,’ he said easily. ‘No later than six, sometimes as much as an hour before that.’

      ‘Even when you don’t get to bed until the early hours?’

      ‘A matter of custom. If I tire in the day I may take siesta. It depends on my commitments.’

      ‘I imagine those are extensive.’

      ‘Not too much so.’

      Doing her best to keep the conversational ball rolling, she said, ‘You speak excellent English.’

      ‘But somewhat structured compared with the way you speak, yes?’

      Gina cast a glance at the chiselled profile, responding to the curve of his lips. ‘My old English teacher would approve every word. It’s usually tourists who introduce bad habits.’

      ‘Few tourists find Vernici,’ he said. ‘It is off the regular routes.’

      ‘I know. I had some difficulty finding it myself.’

      It was Lucius’s turn to slant a glance, expression curious. ‘Why were you looking for Vernici at all if your father came from Naples.’

      Do it now! an inner voice urged her, even as she mentally cursed the slip-up. ‘Latterly,’ she heard herself saying regardless. ‘But he was apparently born in Vernici, so I thought it worth taking a look there too.’

      ‘I see.’ From his tone, it was obvious that he was wondering why she hadn’t mentioned that fact last night. ‘The name is unfamiliar to me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘but the older townsfolk will surely recall the family. I will have enquiries made.’

      She was getting deeper and deeper into the mire, thought Gina unhappily. What the devil was wrong with her that she kept on fabricating things?

      They had reached the front of the house. Lucius preceded her up the steps to open a door for her to pass through, too close by far for comfort as he followed her in. Soles wet from their passage across the grass, her sandals had no purchase on the terrazzo. Lucius shot out an arm as she skidded, hauling her up against him, his hand warm at her waist.

      ‘You must take more care,’ he said, making no immediate attempt to let her go again.

      ‘I will,’ Gina assured him. ‘I’m fine now, thanks.’

      His laugh was low, the brief pressure of his lips at her nape where the curtain of hair had parted stirring her blood in a manner she deplored.

      ‘I’d prefer you didn’t do that,’ she got out.

      He laughed again, but this time released her. Gina made herself meet СКАЧАТЬ