In The Count's Bed: The Count's Blackmail Bargain / The French Count's Pregnant Bride / The Italian Count's Baby. Catherine Spencer

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      ‘And your part in all this should have been played by now,’ she added angrily. ‘You should have spent more time with the little fool.’

      ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he returned coldly. ‘Precisely because the girl is far from a fool, or any of the other names you choose to call her.’

      How, in the name of God, could he feel so protective, he asked himself ruefully, afterwards, when he might be planning the possible ruin of Laura’s life? If, indeed, it turned out that she cared for Paolo after all.

      But on one thing he was totally determined. When he took her, it would be out of their mutual desire alone, and not to placate his aunt. That, he told himself, would be the least of his considerations.

      He could salve his conscience to that extent.

      And, if humanly possible, it would happen well away from the Villa Diana, and Zia Lucrezia’s inevitable and frankly indecent gloating.

      Because he needed to make very sure that Laura would never know how they’d been manipulated into each other’s arms.

      Although that was no longer strictly true—or not for him, anyway, he reminded himself wryly. On his side, at least, the need was genuine, and had been so almost from the first. She was the one who required the persuasion.

      Staying away from her over the past few days had been sheer torment, he admitted, to his own reluctant surprise. She had been constantly in the forefront of his mind, waking and sleeping, while his entire body ached intolerably for her too.

      He was not accustomed, he acknowledged sardonically, to waiting for a woman. In his world, it was not often that he found it necessary. And it would make her ultimate surrender even more enjoyable.

      He cast a lightning sideways glance at her, and saw that her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.

      He said lightly, ‘Is it the road or my driving that so alarms you, Laura?’

      She turned her head, forcing a smile. ‘It’s the road, although I’m trying to get used to it. We don’t have so many death-defying drops in East Anglia, where I come from.’

      ‘Try not to worry too much, mia bella.’ His tone was dry. ‘Believe that I have a vested interest in staying alive.’

      There was a movement at the side of the road ahead, and Alessio leaned forward, his gaze sharpening as a stocky, white-haired man wearing overalls came into view, carrying a tall cane shaped like a shepherd’s crook. ‘Ah,’ he said, half to himself. ‘Fredo.’ He drew the Jeep into the side of the road, and stopped. ‘Will you forgive me, cara, if I speak to him again about moving down to Besavoro? He has been avoiding me, I think.’

      Laura sat in the Jeep and watched with some amusement. The old man stood like a rock, leaning on his cane, occasionally moving his head in quiet negation as Alessio prowled round in front of him talking rapidly in his own language, his hands gesturing urgently in clear appeal.

      When at last he paused for breath, the old man reached up and clapped him on the shoulder, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile. Then they talked together for a few more minutes before Fredo turned away, making his slow way up a track on the hillside, and Alessio came back to the Jeep, frowning.

      ‘Still no luck?’ she asked.

      ‘He makes his own goats seem reasonable.’ He started the engine. ‘Also, he says that the weather is going to change. That we shall have storms,’ he added, his frown deepening.

      Laura looked up at the cloudless sky. ‘It doesn’t seem like it,’ she objected.

      ‘Fredo is rarely wrong about these things. But it will not be for a day—perhaps two.’ He slanted a smile at her. ‘So make the most of the sun while you can.’

      ‘I’ve been doing just that.’ She paused. ‘In fact,’ she went on hesitantly, ‘I was—concerned in case I’d kept you away from the pool. If you preferred to have it to yourself. Because I’ve noticed that you—you haven’t been swimming for a while.’

      ‘I swim every day,’ he said. ‘But very early. Before breakfast, when there is no one else about, but that is not through any wish to avoid your company, mia bella, but because I like to swim naked.’

      ‘Oh.’ Laura swallowed. ‘Oh, I—I understand. Of course.’

      ‘Although,’ he went on softly, ‘you could always join me if you wished. The water feels wonderful at that time of day.’

      ‘I’m sure it does,’ Laura said woodenly, all sorts of forbidden images leaping to mind. ‘But I think I’ll stick to my own timetable. Grazie,’ she added politely.

      ‘Prego,’ he returned, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

      Furiously aware that her face had warmed, Laura relapsed into a silence that lasted until their arrival at the villa.

      As she left the Jeep she thanked Alessio for the lunch in the tone of a polite schoolgirl taking leave of a favourite uncle, and went off to her room, trying not to look as if she was escaping.

      Her clothes were clinging to her in the heat, so she stripped quickly and took a cool shower. Then, she put on her robe and lay down on the bed, trying to relax. But her mind was still teeming with thoughts and impressions from the morning.

      It was weird, she thought, that Alessio—the Count, she amended hastily—should just turn up like that, out of the blue. And even more disturbing that she should have enjoyed being with him quite so much.

      She’d been unnerved too by his suggestion that she was hiding something. He might have dressed it up in poetic language about veils, she thought ruefully, but basically he was issuing a warning that he was on to her.

      And in turn she would have to warn Paolo, on her evening visit, that his lordly cousin was growing suspicious.

      She found herself sighing a little. These visits were becoming more problematic each time. Quite apart from his obsession about his cold, it was difficult to hold a conversation with someone she hardly knew, and with whom she barely had a thought in common, especially when she suspected his mother was listening at the door.

      I wish all this had never happened, she told herself vehemently. That I’d never agreed to this ridiculous pretence. And, most of all, that I’d never come here and set eyes on Count Ramontella. Better for me that he’d just remained a name on a letterhead.

      Easy to say, she thought, but did she really mean it? Would she truly have wanted to live her life without having experienced this frankly dangerous encounter? Without having felt the lure of his smile, or reacting to the teasing note in his voice? Without realising, dry-mouthed, that he had simply—entered the room?

      No, she thought sadly. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss one precious moment with him. But now the situation’s getting altogether trickier, and I really need to distance myself. Put the width of Europe between us, and become sane again.

      It’s safer that way, and I’m a safety-conscious girl. I have to be.

      She sighed again. Alessio Ramontella was just a dream СКАЧАТЬ